A crane
Shading in the evening twilight
Trails its smokelike wings.

A crane

Some days, all it takes is a whisper

A stray thought. A smokelike wisp

I want to drown in the silence of my life

Gentle like this snowfall

I count the threads of my grief quietly

Writing in tandem with this sorrow that roots itself in the pit of my stomach

I promise I am not all of this; or rather, this is not all of me. 
I am flesh and bone and laughter and full. 

But there are days when the static claims the nerves under my skin and the ache throbs in my soul. 

Those days, these days, I come to you