and i commit it to memory:
the way the mountain melts into the sky,
a long, pale shadow;
the glistening lights, translucent-green,
painting the snow into a phantom —
or perhaps a phantasm,
ivory-arcane.

time wraps its’ body around me
in pallid waves of smoke;
not wholly real, closer to a chiffon veil
or gossamer shroud —
i press a kiss
to night’s tender shoulder,
thankful for the love.