epitaph

scrape away the black ink
those particles of bits & pixels from the white white white

scrape them into the mason jar kept in your pocket
for
summer's fireflies & lunar moths
tumbled brilliance secreted for the corner-times
these grey days of winter long
scrape
and
hold the lid down tight as you press it to the fire-line
(skin allows such porous knowing)
lean against the trail of snow along the willow bark
lean & fill
with the enormity of the domed misty gray
capture this biting chill--this clutched sting
shake the jar
and
delight
in the ordinary comfort
of
chaos & contrast