Avarice

It gets so terribly loud,
The chattering of glass at night
In the deep dark of winter.
I feel anything but free,
Seeing the wind blow down the road,
Just a wind in the mouths of the residents
Of this quiet neighborhood.

But in this neighborhood,
What you find is grabbing and smiling
And taking hold of the beautiful things, surely,
As the wind blows towards more open fields,
Where the nighttime decides to abandon the darkness.
It opens into dawn and the greedy wind
Moves swiftly and sweetly onward.

And as I run through the field,
Dead and white as it is,
I hear the greedy wind chasing too.
Chasing after the sunrise,
After the bight of solar rays,
Gnawing on hills of snow that have drifted there,
Where the morning brings warmth

On most of these days.
And it feels good,
Even if it's only from the outside inward,
Because it doesn't quite feel safe,
Even if it is a comfort in truth.
So as the wind reaches a bony hand towards the sun,
I stop running and consider the race I've won.