2-28-15

His hands were mysterious.

They cracked and curved,

stories held captive.

They were universes unexplored,

beyond reach.

They were deeper than the darkness,

more beautiful than the swaying tunes.

His hands were the night sky.

2-27-15

Barren trees
scream,
the piercing air.

Washed out skies
accept the silence
as their new language.

A chill
leaving the earth
agape.