winter world calling

teardrop

palaces

each a wintry

reflection

is

someone

now gone,

should i

when grief

buries the

sun, stay?

come world of grey tear-staining

where hopeful light is made broken

forsake but

leaving

is like

being

ripped

being torn -

for the

outside

opaque

to lord its

dead empire

should i

when sleep

phantom’s

its advances

fall

that silent

sigh?

should i

disconnect

the thorough

sky?

and the honeycomb air shimmers

accepting all voices