White Willow

Your sole existence dwindles off my swollen thumb,
saturated with snow,
yet somehow mystified by the presence of the whisperers.

They beguile me.

I am tightly restrained between and behind what I know
and fail to acknowledge.

Malnutrition of knowledge usurps until my witty defense,
is nothing more than a wordless cloth.

You are my future.

Before the seasons duel, promise you will remember
and use dry feathers on my tongue
to instill the mystery of love upon those who pursuit.