107 lines
2.0 KiB
Markdown
107 lines
2.0 KiB
Markdown
%title Pale she
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:writing:poetry:haiku:
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'''
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Her eye turns inward,
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vision dims and movement stills
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as winter claims her.
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Thoughts like leaves fall slow,
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hesitate, drift, rustle, sigh.
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Frost-rimed remnants rot.
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Some paler she asks:
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do you see the sky through me?
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Do I frame its mien?
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That pale she lacks words.
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She does not speak, cannot speak
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without the wind's hum.
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Still she asks, all breath,
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am I invisible yet?
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Does snow tend steel skies?
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And when her breath fails,
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dark branches write on the clouds:
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Summer is a dream.
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Paler still, she cracks.
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Dreams, also, of ax and fire,
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false springs to thaw hands.
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Silent now, demands:
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there must be an end, there must be.
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Spring, silence, or fire.
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No one answers her.
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She stands stark against flat skies,
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ice claims bark, claims wood.
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Darkness comes heavy.
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Sleep for now, sleep forever,
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midwinter cares not.
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Neither, now, does she.
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How could pale wood think of whens?
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Of thaws and green things?
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The sun tells her lies:
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Melting snow will feed your roots,
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Seasons imply change.
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She does not listen.
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Pale she does not believe him:
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Brother sun's too quick.
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Brother sun tolls days,
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and pale she has no more need
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for hours with seasons.
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Brother sun's movements
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are breaths to her: days blink slow
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when spring is a dream.
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Sister moon speaks now:
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follow me, set time by me ---
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my months are guideposts.
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Pale she sleeps, sleeps still.
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Waking her may have listened.
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Endless winter calms.
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She invites cold in.
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Water, crystallized, freezes;
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cells lyse, die in droves.
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If spring never comes,
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pale she supposes, that's fine.
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Winter is for dreams.
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She'll dream, or she won't.
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She'll carry on or she won't.
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Cold has claimed heartwood.
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No one perceives her.
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She becomes terrain's wild hair,
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a forgiven sin.
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Would she wake for saws?
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For axes with keen-edged blades?
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Would she even care?
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And still the sun sets.
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And still the moon waxes, wanes.
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And still seasons change.
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Should pale she not wake,
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venerate her mute demise.
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Cut her down, cord her.
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A new life in fire,
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for pale she gives heat in death.
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Let this be her spring.
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'''
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--- 2020-11-17
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