Freeze Frame

A molt of starlight on new snow white slough over black drenched fields. A window captures it all as a freeze-frame. Glass reflects and takes my picture through an eyeless lens. Behind me, a log fire cracks and chirps in the language of firebirds. The room chirrs warmly like a fiddle in a ghost camp. The cabins foundations are structured hollows. it breaths through its long bones. I turn to look at where I live, see only the past looking back, I dwell within a camera.