Reid@YWP

She wrote until her fingers carved groves in the silence and spoiled the blankness before. Then, she turned to each surface left unwrote and sang. The birch trees wept as she tore back the bark to reveal stories beneath. 

People always ask me, 

Why don’t you want to leave? 

They ask this because everyone 

      wants 

winter's coming on fast — 
better chop enough wood. 

pluck the last fruits of the harvest — 
then say goodnight to the garden, 
resting under a blanket of leaves and love. 

In the midst of a city,

a tower stands,

its size beyond all comprehension,

and all round it,

there is a great spiral staircase,

swarmed with people all trying to reach the top,

which no one has.

When best friends of old

become polite passersby

still give them a smile and let your heart be full

for theirs are broken too

and need to be reminded to mend.