Selene

Silver dust catches on contours
of branches, rests silently on sage,
pale, shimmering. This, a reflection

of her face, she walks in solemnity,
steps through spaces between trees—
and stops.

She knows.

Her breath chill against my window
she speaks to me through silence
and I trace her frost-writ words--
a voice for all her secrets.

Now we are sisters.
Now I've grown so cold.