Soundless

On the darkest night of early winter The wind beat at my back Whipped at my hair And threw me to the ground. It howled along to the screeching of the ravens’ calls. Eyes of bright yellow glowed from behind dying trees Covered in a dusting of freshly fallen snow Still falling. The tracks behind me, disappearing. The moon above revealed itself under dark clouds Briefly lighting the holes between the trees And lighting my way. Copper burned my tongue From chapped lips . The harsh wind made its way into my throat Turning tongue to sandpaper. The moon fat and round Now hides behind wispy clouds Teasing the world Teasing me with its light and its absence. Fingers, red and numb Are stuffed deep into pockets Cheeks are raw Wind, lashing into my eye sockets Is blinding. My pace, however, does not slow And I hum a childhood song that tickles my chapped lips To pass the time. The ravens’ caws draw to an end As the eyes behind the trees gently close My frozen fingers still encased at my sides My wind-burned flesh still red and raw Full moon peeks its head out from inside the clouds My watery eyes, freezing, shut softly Lips no longer make a sound.