Schism

Grey skies, driven close by
dark clouds unseen,
I see them in the
reflection of her eyes,
flat and smooth, like
a mirror, gazing deeply
into swirling thoughts,
flitting about like
snowflakes on a winter's
morning, deftly avoiding,
the bonfires on the
shoreline, sometimes drenched
with blood, the green grass,
covered in white, but speckled
with little reminders of
the past, along the water,
grasping, cupping embracing,
but still thirsty for more,
praying for the spring,
yet dying in the summer..
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