The reaping seems particularly deep, this season
brought new reasons to wish a speedy New Year to begin;
let the lingering furrows that it leaves on our brow
to round and flatten by the weight of time and sky fallen tears.
Every turn of the page seems to burn a new scar
some loved or adored spirit wisped away
like candles in too harsh wind; it does not stay.
Life is the miracle on swift wings.
Held like a treasure by those who understand
time is the only path, unforgiving and filled
with the moments we could not keep, and yet
somehow, in the recall they flash by again-
an echo of what was, a wished for return
a quickened flash, and a slow burn.
The reaping cuts so dear, staring glass-eyed,
we feel the winter touch bare skin.
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