James Andrews - Awake

These are the things that press down upon the world.
They are the semblances of rings around the moon.

The howling dogs in barking circles
Prowl the dim dark yards.

Crystals holding high upon the winter light,
Betray a stranger's footprints
Creeping low beneath our windowsills.

They are so light and small
In their approaching.
Strange and hushing deep.

They are the many travelers
Who brush against
Our yawning fresh faced houses.

After dreams hold out rescinded
Their footprints stay,
Embedded in the frost.

James Andrews

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