Cars approach, cold beams
of light stabbing,
searching over folds of snow.
The dog, her nose to the ground
sniffing, searching out small
movements. In the distance,
a train whistle, like the
forlorn wail of some
lonely beast, searching the night
for another like it self.
Seeking only some small comfort,
a mouse under the snow
searching, sniffing for a
seed. And I, searching
for the words that describe,
my angst at always
seeking, feeling in the dark.
For words.