seraphemera (seraphemera) wrote,

to walk on water with weighted wings

what buries me is not the snow -
the window sees through and true to my safety
as a fence that holds the cold at bay

with a lantern and a blanket
and a glimpse of rest
with the painting of first snowfalls
ten years and counting gone by

tonight through clouds
the spectre of seafarers
whose feet are weighted by their won hands
sail with the spirits
whose desires to dance
did not pass
with their demise

if only we could learn to let go
release the memories clutched in both hands
this heaviness
(that it takes only moments to sink
out of reach of the sun)
would not claim us so speedily away
and allow our chance meeting
with life eternal
to flee
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