The heart is full of this endless yearning

echoing through this cavernous abyss

the hearth fire spreads out licking warm fingers from this small lit alcove

the darkness at its edges a great icy obsidian wall

the wind whines, or is it the keen of mourning from far off deep

i rest my face on the cold glass of winters night, gleaning the warmth of the fire from the wrong side of the wall like a face pressed against the window from outside a winters night.

there is a hush as though owls wings have soared through

as though fat flakes of snow were falling windless

the ululating voice silenced

I am restless

 

 

 

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