the ice along the branches breathes
while I sit waiting
the storm passes slowly
somewhere else sight is masked
by falling snow
sheepishly I write
knowing there is much to say
and yet having no voice
by my own admission
to express or make sense
so I retreat into silence –
no not silence
retreat into the wind’s rhythm
the heart beat of tonight
to listen to the quiet symphony
played out just beyond my window
it is me who is restless like the wind
anxious to move and fly above
around the turning, empty branches
the hollow windows and corners
the doorways filled with light
and welcoming warmth
the frozen footsteps that no longer
fit the shape of my foot
there is no resting place,
not now while the bud at the end
of each branch sleeps
not while rose is quiet
not while the butterfly is dormant
not while….
it is the song of the ice that
brings me home again
and here, it is how I know
from where the song truly comes
~
01.03.07
Leigh-Anne Tyson
lei fraser 