Late,
the dark cloak of the night sky glitters with the cold flickering of stars,

Stars,
some that died long ago and shattered across the vast sea of emptiness that surrounds them,

Empty
is a total, infinite absence that can stem from wars waged by words that cut like daggers deep into the heart,

The heart,
the easiest muscle to strain, rip, and the only one to break apart, bleeds out emotion into the void,

Into
the permafrost that has dug its roots under the cells to stitch back together what remains,

What remains
of my confidence in the world I entrust to you, my light in the darkness, the summer breeze in late January, the rock I cling to as I face the storm, the two cool pools of blue that I gaze into when I think

Of hope.