In glowering
wind, by rusty swings...

Noble companion, stay striving still,
keep thriving through weightier nuances...

December must be tired
of being called upon, of being...

I went to the station where the rain was
pouring, turbulent, seven years old...

Ink seeps down, again,
Scratches, reflections, soap dust...

Your lips twitch, betraying the dream you're...
Your slow breath is choral to the soft rain...

The empty road, at night, seems cold,
or tranquil, or both - reflective cats-eyes...

You weren't there but I saw you,
on the steps of the station...

The candle you lit on winter nights
has worn down to the wick. The crimson...

I feel like being the distraction
keeping you up nights, vow...

I went to the coast where the sea mist
rolled over the dunes and made it so...

I wish I had more space instead
of flirting with the claustraphobia...