There’s an orange glow 
From that moment I held your secrets close
And now it’s skipping on the edges the of the water
Catching on the little waves and highlighting the shifting moods

The grey of the winter evening is filling with charcoal and will grow black
But for now the rain is breaking the surface of the lake
It’s sparkling the color of the sky and singing like glass

Little broken moments cracking our surface
Because we are as delicate as an old window pane
And sometimes just as cold

If the frost could grow over my lips
It would say it was tired of the same stories year after year
And I would reply that the ice feels the same
No matter how long it stays

Abigail Platter is an illustrator and drawing teacher in Seattle. She dares to consider herself a poet that paints. 

Feature Photo by Bruno Kelzer on Unsplash