The Nightly Year

Every night is a year in my mind.

A year on the backs of wild horses

gathering at the foam of waves.

A year of snow covered trees, imprints

of ferns wasting on clay soils.

A year of suns smiling the false

smile of happy attendants.

A year of goats treading up

mountains to the starry skies.

A year of auroras merging into

solid colour that we name ‘land’.

Every night, my mind plays

out a year. When I wake

the year disappears like it never…

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Why?

Woolens warming withered wrists.

Words written with weeds

while weighing Winter,

wary walks when weathered

worlds wonder whose war will win.

Windows washed, wherever

wishes whisper. Walls wrinkle,

wayward white wings.