It’s late and there is snow
resting quietly, taking the night’s moans
and spinning them into sugar.
I am fluffy and warm inside
where it is dark and the fire has gone out
and I am not waiting for whatever’s next.
This is the moment. The dark, the cold,
the inexplicable coziness. This is peace
and I’m not sure how long I can hold on.
It seems I’ve spent years chasing an image
that does not include the grey, aching,
moody wretch I am now- yet… peace?
Stories and diagrams and pictures
all stacked up in my mind or on my table
do not add up to the good I have now.
Yet tomorrow may find me sad and unable
to grasp the good as it flutters around me;
maybe when light has gone again… peace.
The Word Rummager 
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