Winter's End
Winter's end is among us,
I find myself pondering little of what is grand,
But the smallest sights hidden behind the smallest mouse hole,
perhaps all in my mind.
Was it seen by him who was rummaging through history,
Or did the mouse himself catch a glimpse of the future,
Right there as if it had been looking for buried treasure amongst dust and the smell of dirt.
Not the smell of winter's end,
Crisp and soft like liquid starlight
burning to catch the day on icy fingertips.
Not so far away is the mouse,
Unknowing of his find,
In fact, he has already left for his next task.
As if I could do that.
Perhaps I am that mouse,
somedays I believes
but today is not one of those days days that deceive,
for in wandering eyes, and a flick of a pen,
I wish that someday we will meet again.