at the very center, there is a hollowness
and it makes the stem brittle
and fragile
and prone to cracking
under pressure

“In my opinion, the most ordinary things, the most common and familiar, if we could see them in their true light, would turn out to be the grandest miracles . . . and the most marvelous examples.”
—Michel de Montaigne

the day breaks through the cold, dark night
into a morning of fiery skies and floating ice—
this, more than anything else,
breaks my heart into tiny, little pieces
that i collect with my clumsy mittened hands
and shove into deep pockets

if i were a very small faerie,
i would live under a tender fern

this day had sunshine and
pink petals–
it had bees and
lemonade,
this day held great promise

in the blue hour of dusk
when the cold seeps deep
into my bones and into my pulsing heart–
the memory of your words float,
weightless, like crystal flakes
and frigid winds–
blinding me temporarily by frozen lashes

the frozen field crunches and snaps
at my boots as i walk along a well-worn path–
the crows call to one another,
the smell of early winter fills the air