There’s an end to monotony
somewhere over the blue-feathered mountains
and cannibalistic forest scapes
that launch fireworks of red-tipped flames
into the night skies of routine.
No more longing of home,
smoldered pillows, tainted with overuse;
blankets that have eclipsed floors,
spun to forts of misused minds,
tumbling once they see the unawakened sky.
When those long days come to a close,
met by momentary relief of a break,
the body can breathe – aching, gasping breaths –
and find contentedness through the pity
of the snowy weekend.