gray weather, one's wings as cold as in December turning to oneself
My hands, from the cold air hide in my pockets. Dark horizon but following the path, skimming the ground with my shoes in the gravel. Is it sky or earth?
But then there are those other ones, the ones who get upset when you are happy. They know who they are.
at the foot of the mountain blocking the sun, words freeze in the violence of the world.
let my will melt in the coldness of August, shake off the dust of regret when I open the window, looking at you through the rain, a little sad, like tears on the window.
*posted for the first time in August 2019, reviewed in July 2020