These are the rhythmic shadows unleashed in winter.
The day’s restlessness of light
Betraying the quiescence of the woods
As the trees wait,
Motionless in the snow,
To cross the threshold of sleep.
And to wake,
The chanting of their leaves
To give voice to the wind
In its ceaseless wanderings, again.
To speak of the sun falling into the night,
Of the stars floating on the surface of the seas,
Of the anointing, reascension of the sun
And the return of life.
We pass unnoticed
Walking among these guardians of the earth.
The oblivion is ours to remediate
In words and images, obscure.
Because we are the phantoms here,
Late to arrive,
Soon to depart.

— January 18, 2026 —