To the Reader: Twilight

 by Chase Twichell     Whenever I look     out at the snowy     mountains at this hour     and speak directly     into the ear of the sky，     it's you I'm thinking of.     You're like the spirits     the children invent     to inhabit the stuffed horse     and the doll.     I don't know who hears me.     I don't know who speaks     when the horse speaks.