She is white, white with the solace of night.
Snow drifts in from the kitchen curtain,
Coating the kittens sleeping on mittens.
I’m lying, lying in the snow she left, smitten,
Bearing angels aloft on songs she wrote,
Wrote for me in the candlelight of Yule night.
Vespertine starlight alights my face
The way her bright feline firelight
Burned in cinders surrounding my sight.
How happy we were, she and I,
Smelling of oleander ‘neath sheets that were lavender,
On a ship full of laughter when beluga whales silenced her,
Sinuous as sorbet swirling through a frosty froth.
Come to me, little harp
Whisper what Aurora wrought
Through the window sheen- whistling a winter warble,
Echoing off bells waxed by twilight,
Toes light, facing skyward, the ground glaciated by sodalite
Drifting over the soil, slower than the speed of satellites.
Ethereal whispers are painting these walls white,
White with the solace of night,
Disintegrating into wind, height by height.
Her tears are freezing into snow as they fall,
Fall onto this scarring heart, breaking me apart,
Departing now from the window grown dark,
Into wuthering night, guided by Pleaidies light.
With our backs to the world and eager to fly,
We sail to the stars on a sea in the sky.
