The Book’s Border

The garden at night has donned silver frost,
The crystal crunch of footsteps resounds.
Windows yellow in the gentle blue –
A living torch of clear radiance.

Snow falls from the shoulders onto the granite,
Doors open into a cozy home.
The cold magnet of wintry fatigue
Fades in a peace native to all.

The aroma of golden tangerines spills,
The desk lamp – my solar bird.
History of wonders frozen in bindings,
In the dust of time and stellar dreams.

A cup of coffee warmed my palms,
The world halted at the book’s border.
It is sweet to rest in the evening’s captivity,
Nurturing the confession of my soul.