nighttime
is my suitor. . .
his eyes, the stars
his fingers, the wind—
only the moon gives him away
branches droop
burdened with snow. . .
the weight
of my sadness
a fifty pound sack
nighttime
is my suitor. . .
his eyes, the stars
his fingers, the wind—
only the moon gives him away
branches droop
burdened with snow. . .
the weight
of my sadness
a fifty pound sack