Resting,
a pillow is a very last resort
at something list'ning
I asked myself once
if a man walks in his sleep
who is there to guide him?
Clouds cover the moon.
The only face I have known
that never laughs back.
Snow gathers round her feet
like the powder
clings to her nostrils
Looking up, the stars
sparkle a glimmer of hope.
Can we be alone?
Moons subtle shadows
cast on a bed of white snow
wrinkeled by footprints
Crows land on uour face
leaving tracks that you cannot erase;
you age gracefully
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