running through the trees, footsteps
falling on forgotten paths, the wind
leading us to and from the forest’s heart –
what will it look like when snow covers it all?
can you hear your own voice from inside the cold?
there is nothing louder than the moon on a winter night.
i have tried making noise, i have tried cracking the silence
with a blade between my teeth –
i have tried, and tried, but nothing has worked well enough
to conquer that sound.
i would sing from mountaintop to mountaintop,
stretching my voice far and wide, but my lungs,
my lungs cannot chew the dreams i bit off.
how could i spit them out now? how could i take a heart
and condense it into song?
the moon, the cold, and the lonesome love
would be enough to storm a fortress on their own.
what could they do if i joined hands with them?
what could we do together, swaying beneath the wind
and the trees?