find it soothing,
the grayness,
but I find it suffocating --
draining the world
of its variety and color
smudging the details
at the edges.
I crave light.
Once an opaque plane,
the ice on the
kitchen window transforms
into a thousand glittering
crystals, each one a
snowflake of
incomprehensible beauty,
captured on glass
to extend its fleeting
existence.
I crave light.
Once dark, abbreviated days
at year's end,
illuminated by
singing, bells, old
friendships renewed --
by a thousand
acts of glittering
kindness.
Not all grayness
Not all light
is surface: we allow one --
or the other --
to infuse, consume
become part of us,
