Fall has fallen
The twilit light
The day neatly folded into night
White wintry eve
The silent loon
The frostbit fingernail called the moon
The world is cold, my son, and bare
And this, our darkest even of the year,
May seem to cling forever near
But feel this heart, its warmth, its care
It beats for you foreverwhere
The sun is still, the sun is still
Still heating, still beating
And ever will
— Joshua Commander
This article appears in An Absence of Abalone.