I have walked this path
many times before.
In spring before the trees leafed,
when shadows and fireflies filled the air,
in fall when the smell of leaves turning lingered on my sweater long after.
in winter, once again.
a january night
steeped in darkness.
I have felt alone before but this feeling seems different.
Yet the trees
though they sleep in their drowsy charcoaled outlines
in their own shadows across the cold cement
and the stars
blinking in a vast sky of onyx,
I am alone yet
a part of this sleepy
In a single breath
this landscape. – J. Hamilton