The Passage

I. Biting Wind Unfrozen, the river flows on to the gentle breeze of February.

I’m unknown in these parts of the country, a fleeting visitor, quickly forgotten.

Snow will fall but my steps won’t even be recorded in history’s books; by tomorrow it’ll be gone.

Television static, smog at the horizon, the air is crisp and clear here.

II. On the Bridge

I saw a stranger down the street whose presence left a memory for a brittle second.

If it weren’t for writing, she would already be meaningless, her red coat disappearing in the snow.

Ice accumulated on the shore, how long would it take before it breaks apart?

Icy crystals in blue winter, I’m standing on the bridge now, my toes hurting in this restless wind.

III. Into the Dark

Daylight will fade soon; like watercolours it’ll leave a faint blue trace before awaking the owls.

It’s time to pass, witness what the other side has to offer, what the journey reveals to my new eyes.

I forgot my gloves, hands burning, blue fingertips, too late to retreat now.

Through the ice fog with my eyes foggy, just the sound of shrill crows and crushing snow beneath my feet.

IV. The Castle

Blue hour comes, this season is too long for this mystical hour which disappears in a blink.

I emerge with the darkness and find winter’s pavilion, a brief moment of warmth for my red cheeks.

Pale pillars and a façade stolen by nature in itself a dead entity, decaying thistles.

Through the archway like Alice down the rabbit hole, atoms despair — they too are bound to time.

V. Going Through

The static makes way for the evening news, the smog is gone, just like me.

Withering flowers inside the castle, even the ivy holds on to the last strength of life.

And the red coat is back, staring at the sealed sky like an exhausted insomniac, like a poet.

Time does have space for those who remember and document the world’s constant losses.