Sorrow

February’s attire is full of white.

On the skyline, the silhouette of Orion, --

just another shoulder to cry on.

Thus, I’m enduring cold nights.

It’s two months since you’ve left me. Since

the weather turned cold. Since the sunrise

last caressed the horizon

with warmth. At least, so it seems.

Weaving the spider-webs of the constellations,

the muse of astronomy catches my gaze.

Drifting off into space,

I am losing my patience.

People say that the cosmos is vast,--

but there’s nowhere to hide my sorrow

when the moon, like a bookmark, sticks out of

the time that’s long passed…