ughten – morning twilight, the part of night immediately before daybreak, originating from the Scandinavian word ‘otta’ and German ‘uchten’.
I took pause under the sky
the brow of night rose, incredulous at my stopping
as I, aflush and not afraid of aching cold ears, breathed in winter
Tasting snow, tingling and pure
I saw the ghosts pass and swirl through the air
unravelling their ancient clouds of memory
their movements not dim, nor melancholy,
but full, and fresh, and honeyed with energy
feeling so lucky to have seen the mawing virtues
these shimmering hours possessed
caught between frost and a falling sun
evermore did I abhor the bored and blunt
I wanted what I had witnessed there
with numb, throbbing jaw and chapped lips
eyes wide, watering, and drinking it in like a parched dog.
I wanted to be bathed in life.
Previously published in Ink Drinkers Poetry
