Reid@YWP

He watches 

Is he caught in the rain or blinded by the floodlights? 

The neon wires burn his gaze, spelling out hotel 

The wind cuts through his trench coat, encasing his body and mind in an icy glaze,

"Some say the world will end in fire." Robert Frost's line echoes in my head, quickening my heartbeat and breaths, as if I should just give up and succumb to the soils surrounding us.

A tree

A stationary tree

The bark so righteous; its core so pure

The leaves illuminate with the sunlight

The roots befriend the live earth

All as one, freely

A human

A cross human

In the woods,

All is silent but for the twinkling sounds of falling snow

Flakes descending, like crystals 

They are bejeweled with angles that dazzle and delight, so delicate

Each one unique among millions.