APHONIC

breezes do not speak but
curl through bare trees.
hollow, they whisk
snow in its sleeping.

winter breezes cure,
cure normalcy so
we may swirl and
finish in silence.

finish. to finish our
breath peacefully,
cease suffering as
snow blankets, as it

sobs silently for spring.
winds that blow pale
long also for budding,
long also for pushing.

veins whisper in the leaf,
threads sewn by the jet
weep white in blue air.
breezes do not tell,

breezes do not speak.
they gently toss our hair,
make tears of our eyes,
tears of hollow eons.