Nov 26, 2020
halcyon
in this orange-tinted apocalyptic dark i wonder whether i should be counting again these seconds i have already counted. these minutes which have already passed me by. ask me again, i whisper, but all the ghosts are gone and the summer winds smell like spring and the rooftop snow melts all year long. tell me again that the golden days have gone and will never come again. i will whisper, you can keep the count. we’ll turn the skylight blue and let the wind in through the wintertime.
