frost

the frost on the window

spreads like wings on a bird

my hand cools

as the warmth melts the fog away

the rare gift of marks

if anything

marks aren't made enough

at least not for good

i draw

cats

and stars 

and words that i find purposeful

smiley faces

and sad faces

the frost slowly returns

erasing everything

giving me a new window

to start over

the red and white and yellow lights

of the night

blur by

under my hands

as i write

and it starts again

and repeats.

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bumblebeeduke8

VT

13 years old

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