Melancholy angles

Shadows paint the snow
etched so lightly
one breath would seem to stir
their resting place
but
they do not rest.

They are the dark side of the moon’s kiss
the melancholy angles
of a sleepless night
anchored
on the sentinels
rooted
watching
waiting.

What secrets do you whisper to the sky?
What promises do you make to the moon?

Her gift is her glow
received
and given
freely, without judgment.

She listens, you know.
Every breath upon the crystalline air
is loved
and held
until it becomes one
with the shadows.

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