(no subject)

[strix]

It was not till very much later
that we were able to take a moment
and reflect on that snow which had
crunched under our feet
(Angels' breath hung at our lips)

Violins romanced the bare branches
of trees that ran the middle lanes
and I remarked on the inability of stars
to otherwise warm such a frigid night
(What good a flame on the moon)

But what good is that which keeps you warm,
you remarked, if so soon the sun will rise
and melt the snow which followed us here,
leaving pavement and cigarette butts
(Dead leaves to rot back to earth)

My mind a blank and my lips cracked,
I smiled and walked down the lane,
snow dangling off my coattails,
a gift to follow me whereever I go
(Unless the sun rise once again)

What good is a match on Mars,
you asked me, lighting a cigarette.
Having no answer, I took a drag
and spilled smoke out into the night.
Spectacular, I mused,
The finest lunar tobacco.

-Matthew