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.