unspoken

I have seen your eyes.
I remember them
when they spoke,
when they answered without words
showing me your happiness.
Now, what do your wrinkles tell me?
What do your tired eyes say?
Wrinkles can tell a story,
but I am not sure what they say anymore.
They are different.
I long for age.
I long for old age.
There is beauty even in worn skin,
in the wrinkles around the eyes
that tell of everything
that words cannot.
But your eyes?
I do not understand their language.
And your wrinkles?
They speak of the arrival
of old age;
not of beauty,
of loneliness.

… so very perfect

The clock in the cottage
keeps time in its own way

It gets cold at night
and feels stifling by noon

I hang my shirts up to dry
on the hooks hanging from the ceiling

I’ve been sitting here for a while
with this clock that never tells the truth

just thinking to myself
“my god, this is so very perfect.”

hunger

can this hold

hunger

returning now

but

i don’t ask

of becoming

shadows

of hands reaching

to face

of naked flesh

of hands to body

of being

and of becoming

the snow

The snow
had fallen overnight.
I was asleep.
I was away.
Somewhere far away.
Why always
away?

restless

a storm is coming
in the sky to the west
the sun is setting
a slender ribbon of light
trapped between nightfall
and restless clouds

birds

the sky is getting lighter, and the day has just begun.

the birds woke me up early.

the sky is getting lighter, and the day has just begun.

how could i be upset with the birds?

silhouettes

silhouettes of trees

dusk

blue sky fading

branches breathe in the

wind

the wind
passes through
the trees
bare branches
sway
then the house
starts to creak
we are
talking

the snow is deep

the snow
does not pile up
It was never meant to last
but I lose track of where it
falls across the fields
the ones untouched by wanderers
unmarked except for
a tree that breaks up the
rolling surface
there, the snow is deep
It was meant to be there