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I miss winter’s dusk

How the last of the cold lemon sun

Lays down its rays like a blanket upon the barren crop field

The lights are already on

In the few scattered houses of stone and dark rooftops

Inviting and warm

Wood smoke swirls out from the chimneys

The barren trees stand like crooked scepters

The last of the light filters through

My guts tingle

Remnant snow lies bruise-blue and frozen in time

I think about not being here anymore

And it scares me

Will it be like before the first breath of birth?

Unconscious and invisible?

Or will I wander in some varied astral plane?

Some ghost in a tattered afterlife

Scratching at windows

Trying to get out of the abandoned house

To live again

Putting mortar to regrets

And basking in winter’s sun

Memories like vanished whispers

Time flowing

Days clicking by

In haunted hollows of December