Sunday, August 13, 2006

Smithing

Winter sunlight soft and grey, in the snow to walk awhile --
Flakes drift into caverns left by footprints shapeless to man.
Ice on the trees sparkles, beguiles, the air reminds us of our span

In silence the world is empty -- free all things that matter:
We are ghost voices in the air, fading tracks in the snow.
Marring death with silent laughter while we possess nowhere to go.

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