the moon like glass splinters on black water

with the kind of feet that could start earthquakes we walk through the gloam.

yet i remember our smallness.

we walk through the last light into the incoming night.

this blue grey soothes me. every sense drenched in a particular colour. i close my eyes and inhale. paint the moment as i see it.

all around mute trees with gnarled fingers reach ever outwards beckoning the birds home.

they, like us, still breathe winter's echoes through tiny paper lungs, but feel spring about to break the skin of our days.

at the edge where boats are tied no more the moon like glass splinters on black water.