Hopeful lines

Beneath the setting sun,

river runs,

vermillion red,

and silver-bellied fish

glint golden,

in these precious moments

before the dark.

 

Silence falls

between the branches

of winter trees,

tangled with stars,

when the moon hangs heavy,

And winter cracks

its icy knuckles.

 

The sky so full of stars,

one more so bright,

we can hear it singing.

 

We could hide,

deny and submit,

or we could run,

put on red shoes and dance,

sing the last songs

in the teeth of the bullets.

 

Red wine, red flames,

and a red sun setting,

and the embers sigh,

and the red fox barks,

winter will pass,

the spring is coming.