Memories float easily this morning across the delicate frost. It is one of those days, chosen from many, to circle on the calendar. Perhaps it should be every day, though we would each weigh more than elephants. Your smiling face would light the midnight sky, your embrace warm an Arctic snow. You will be this always, a spreading, fiery wit to warm this day and every. The sun is chasing the moon on it’s own horizon, this magic hour soon passing. The circular nature of time will keep us always together. For this, I sing thanksgiving.
Categories: Poetry