12-02-2016, 02:42 AM
EDIT 1.
You hear the falling,
but only after it has settled
on some nocturnal eve or edge,
then, you hear the voices -
starlight shaping sound prints,
the bushy tails,
and the grinding teeth of the slightest breeze.
Speech pitter-patters over the windowpane.
Out on the ice,
paws scrape and shovel pallid-whispers.
There are swaddled hollows
just like yours,
snouts that sense
when you turn in your bed,
when you curl ever tighter
around an incoherent flesh.
Right now – if asked,
you’d swear the fall speaks,
but it’s just the sky creaking,
only a crushed silence tumbling
too loudly from your ears.