Of Many Voices

at times
it speaks with the voice of a young child
gentle and quiet and
soft like rose petals and just as beautiful

and sometimes it shouts
its voice loud and furious
and hard like the wall it tries to knock me into

but it can sound sad too
its voice brittle with the breaths of ghosts
and i hear it and think
of times when i felt that way too
when i felt like i was a ghost

tonight it is not gentle
it is furious
and there are ghosts outside my window
reaching through the window casing
to touch me with their cold fingers

but they cannot
and as i watch this invisible spectre
dance through the winter night
i think instead of the morning
and how beautiful the world will look
in its white dress

Gussied Up

ere the dawn rises
the sun a boutonnière pinned to pale silk
a lining of silver
draped in folds like a skirt
trailing lightly over a glittering floor

and to greet the dawn
the trees put on white dresses
matrons stately in their sunday best
and the littles ones
though overweighed by their finery
stand proud nonetheless

the trees dance,
beckon to the dawn,
branches like dark hair
tossed by the wind
and ice crystals like sequins
throw prisms of color
tiny rainbows that kiss my skin

i watch this meeting
this dance between sky and earth
ere the dawn rises