a deeper slice of sky

Crowding against the cold
skin gathers itself to contain inner heat.
A prickled outward skin to keep heat within
and the world notices little
of the battle in brittle layers of life.
It is an ordinary winter day, and yet the sun
betrays the golden face of warmth;
aslant and through a deeper slice of sky,
we tremble and yearn for calendars to turn

faster

No matter the width of the world
one only feels the nearest inch, and in an endless bound
of space and time, sitting at sea's edge
it is the ship launched by the winded breath
of the mind's own sky, takes the onward path
to nothing and back, and all along the way,
creation in each inhale, filling forms
of bubbled galaxies in each passed breath

slower

than the pulsing light of life, can it become
a snail foot, when missing the reason
for the next step, when the only fear
is that tomorrow arrives before I can repair
today.