All That Remains

 

wine glass snow
Grace Black

All That Remains

It’s this empty glass,

ice on my tongue,

and snow that’s come,

an uncertainty in all that lives.

We are these particles,

these flakes,

these pieces,

a fluffy purge of all that aches.

It’s this empty glass

and all it contains,

answers, questions;

Winter’s portal of everything’s nothing.

© Grace Black

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