Winter Star

A river of light
from the blue cast night
flowed through the cold windows
upon the north stair.
I was there,
a child alone.
This empty mansion was my home.
The frosted fields beyond the walls,
that stretched in flatness, cold and still.
Their deadly chill and frozen stare
shining out a lack of care.

No friends.
Nobody.
Only stars.
Gravel, and cold cars.
Bare wood floors with no scars.

I close my eyes and pull close the blanket,
crisp and white.
I peer through the glass into the night.
You beam a message about a constellation
It flickers, a star shoots,
streaking over me,
free above.
I smile,
with thanks to you,
and love.

© Mark Sheeky. Permission is required for reproduction.