A tangerine moon rose above the trees.
Leafless branches teased the edges of the night,
rising against the light,
stretching black lace against the rising.
We saw our breath in the low glow,
stretching and curling in soft rolls
then vanishing into the chill.
We sat for a while,
waiting for some sense,
waiting to rise from the shadows,
waiting for that pale light
to rise above the night
and bring something like understanding.
She reached her hand
over to mine
and I felt its warmth
against the thin line of my skin
and was reminded again
that it is not understanding
so much as it is the reassurance
that we do not walk alone
amidst the cold stones
and long nights of this world.
I looked up beyond the glowing of the moon
and saw stars stretching beyond vision,
yet barely reaching
the threshold of faith.