She remembers feeling whole

inside the strange wool coat

with a fuzzy muffler and warm hood.

The way the night looked blue,

the way the snow sparkled 

just as it settled on the road. 

It may have been a forced march

through childhood 

but she always knew 

her body was not her own to keep

and what lay beneath

was something without a name

that would always be hers,

in a place with green and florals

and lots of birds on the wing. 

it’s the starlight 

even somewhat hidden in the fog

it’s the Beatles song

the umbrella in the corner 

the map of a forgotten city

it’s the afternoon cup of tea 

with warm comfort of citrus 

the canvas bag of books

the mystery bookmarked for later 

it’s the memory of holding hands 

while driving with the world passing by

the evening peepers

the lyrics to an old standard

it’s a big old moon

larger than life

enduring longer than any dream

Nothing special, no named constellations.

Just a fuzzy view of a tree and a few stars glittering in the night sky.

A fire crackles warm and low enveloping a few square feet around us

forming a make-believe world. 

Years have passed

and the only way I can tell is how I ache when I wake

and how blurry things get more quickly without rest.

I am content knowing we see the same sky no matter where we are. 

.

There is no secret behind the light,

no magic potion to keep us upright,

no answer that would satisfy.

But the fire crackles when we give it something to burn.