Spoken Gusts

Have you ever touched glass
Made of ice
Letting windows clear
Show visions
Whose sights outside
Prove special
During Christmas spent all alone –

Frigid words
Raw mornings confess
Beneath blankets silently waiting,

Chilly mountains
Capturing stories,

Though glistening bright
Despite clouds.

These are the living snowdrifts
Housed in my dreams
Drawing angels
Now creating their silhouettes
Patiently
Before winter’s breath
Should warm –

Some fleeting sense of forgiveness,

Another wish entirely,

Where shapes stay formed
From memories
Trailing footsteps
Regretting their path.

I’m aware how
Winds die down
Before any lost soul can remember
Those contours held
Between blizzards

Yet cerrainly blessed
While they last.

This beautiful scene may fade,

But not when hope
So gentle
Still rests upon grass that listens
To its God soon
Uttering grace –

His whisper welcoming cold
For our burning lungs
Left wanting
One more chance at expressing
A poem like flakes
Which fall.

  • J. Pigno

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