Wonder

[octaviusromulus]

The air, thick and cold,
crackled with my footfalls.
The snow was fresh,
that glassy, glowing
December snow,
stubbornly silver even
under the felt-black night.

My steps pressed
rough-hewn wounds into
the flat, white vastness.
I could feel it all waiting,
all around me the hope that
I would stop, linger, and
become another
snow-weighted bough or
soft flake of starlight.

When I finally paused
I held my breath,
stunned to suddenly be
the void wondering
at its own fullness.