Tuesday, March 3, 2015

Often from the window he would witness
The night as moonlight fell across
Leafless limbs and stitched darkly
Seams in belatedly, fallen snow.

To search more deeply, he’d press
His face almost touching the pane
While his eyes traced the tracks
Printed over that open space

Till they turned north toward the wood
Where the cover of darkness night
Shed within those dense trees
And shuttered nocturnal forms

Against the lone man whose eyes
They would neither know nor fear.




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