and when I woke that morning through
the window gentle sunlight streamed
upending, blue the blanket, not in shades
of gray as usual in winter bound,
much like the place where sky and
snow meet infinite, for now reflecting
quiet I awake to greet the sun,
missing dearly now so late into November
we were living, but a pause before
that weather we were bound: a taste
a borrowed memory of seasons that
had done and passed;
into that winter now we lapse.

Blank Verse Poetry
2018
Inspired by John Milton