The world sinks into a commiserating

stillness— abstracted conversations

chiming with the shuddering snow.

Tracks sway slowly over

mountainous curves, a landscape

of miso and stagnated ports

buried amidst white-slated sheets.

A dormant cry etches train

windows as I glance outward,

as though the gods of winter’s embrace

carry in every unboarding-footstep

traced from cascading sleet.

What are frost-bitten trees to compare

to moments enthralled by chambré sake?

But the taste of crescent moon sunsets

buzzing where the air smudges

wander-worn fingertips.

This was written by our contributing writer, Claire Kroening.