Stephen Fuller *** Poetry, Essays

The Day Halloween Costumed as White Christmas

I went walking. 

And I found it,
As expected,
My breath.
 
Alone on a dark road
Underneath stars that need
Not be counted but 
Just need wander here
Into my hand
Where for just this moment 
I find them
Like a witch on his broom 
Seeking the Golden Snitch
Sees his frosted breath
or Santa in his sleigh
The moment his deer fly
Sees his frosted breath 
Becoming All...
All that was meant to be in that one
Tiny bit of space miles and miles from
Any star that needn’t be counted.

I see my
Frosted breath

2 Responses to “The Day Halloween Costumed as White Christmas”

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