Where The Lily Blooms

Winter will arrive, suddenly and soon,
through the bright openings of all these stars,
the jewels these dark nights have left for me.

I touch my lips
with fingers aching for warmth
and I touch my forehead
for wisdom looking for vision—
for some relief—
from the blindness
this final set of hours offer
weakly as the sound of snow falling
between branches that will not hold
until spring.

Winter has arrived all around me.
Ice glazed the sun into a few mornings
before leaving the dead
to rot like corpses
in the smoking cremation grounds.

I stretch my body here
on the surface
before I realize I will be taken
by the worms and the rain.
I inhale and let myself sink
into these depths—
a child looking up toward the surface
where air and words matter.

The bubbles exhaled
will eventually freeze
or find freedom in the cold cracks
of another long day
among the reeds and rushes
above the water
where the lily
blooms.