Winter Night

The white sands,


yielding to my footsteps,

a crisp crunch,

water sand,

it wraps wispy hands

around my feet,

as I scatter across it,

hurrying away from

its grasp.

To falter is to

become locked

in time,

a stiff momento.

And as I pass through,

the winds,

my sisters,

sweep away my footprints,

as if I was never there,

I pass, unseen,


or so the winds


as they clean

my memory from

the frigid moon shine,

built from tiny stars.