Courtyard snow reflects more moon
My windows glow
Gauze and lattice
Sheers and frames
Motors thrum then sigh
As 239 Saint Sacrement settles in
Negative Celsius nights
A silence of no cars nor crickets
Nor planes nor cicadas
Quiet beyond any country upstairs attic
The most hushed place I’ve ever been
Such that I hear every click and trickle of thoughts
I feel so poorly about myself
My room’s rickety furniture
I’ll let nobody in
Never
Never again
Letters mailed to myself
Cursive love and regret
And not a word heard
Under the feather tick
The December clouds
The moon on my key chain