Has the world ever been so still? The tips
of my fingers are freezing and my words
curl in the air as I practice
their sounds and shapes,
and the trees around me are silent —
waiting. Like they know something I don’t.
But the moonlight (your light) is warm.
Somehow, inexplicably, warm —
like a touch to the inside
of my wrist, blue veins thrumming.
And maybe there are ghosts here.
Maybe the chill that bites at the end
of my nose is their little way of saying
hello. And maybe they’re a little sad
and a little anxious and plenty
But the moonlight (your light) guides them.
The exact opposite of sunflowers,
and yet just as devoted — when day comes,
they hold their breath and pray for night.
Contact Madelyn Peterson at [email protected].