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     |  some days i am the wind that whistles through the trees;  |
     |  some days i am the leaf it brings to the river;           |
     |  some days i am the water that carries it downstream;      |
     |  some days i am the rock around which it passes.           |
     |                                                            |
     |  some days i am the moth alighting,                        |
     |  desperately drying,                                       |
     |  eyes ever turned to the missing moon.                     |
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     |  my cheek freezes to the inside of the mask,               |
     |  and i bow my head with the sprouts                        |
     |  succumbing to layers of ice.                              |
     |                                                            |
     |  the imperative is to last.                                |
     |____________________________________________________________|    2015.02.16