Jan 25, 2018
this entire part of the world
is a curved dome
shrouded and hushed.
i can practically see the rusty sky
arching overhead
and birds brushing their back feathers
against the clouded glass.
even the blanketing snow
is holding its breath as it sweeps
down in a spiralling wave
touching and touching and touching and
i am here, coated in cold
and gaze roaming this softness
but i am also not.
i am the dome and the birds and sweeping flakes
in some twisted way
in a curving, flitting, spiralling moment
that melts into the ground
as soon as it began.
