Caught in the complexities
of aging our lanterns
casting the shapes of companions
back from the past
on the road between two eternities—
what we have forgotten,
misremembered, never knew,
and what we can't foresee,
So many ways to be afraid
waiting for a new forever.
Morning's cold fresh snow.
Snow the simplest phrase.
Day the simplest phrase.
Wind the simplest phrase.
Is it not enough?
Yet how can we be blamed
for wanting more?
