Speak hard to winter for me. I need to blink again a couple of times I think, for it to come around, for it to fade and only then come clean.
We ask , forgetting we already know, will the silence last?
Some dream like snow unfallen goes lightly where before there was only breath, contrived by chance to fragrance, by depth to passion, by wealth to abiding grace that falls away like sunlit snow.
We revel inside the only place that holds us now, an embrace we fought for and won. A field of all we’ve gained and all we’ve discarded. There is no moon tonight, instead a cradle-full of stars slowly rock back and forth across the difference between what I know and what I understand.
By day, fat beagles lie like pinto beans in late winter grass, a breeze tosses leaves aside as well as any rake. The beagles roll over, unaware that I have come this close to their fence.
Instead, I startle myself, a long mournful howl at the back of my throat. I race up the alley and across a street of bricks glazed sumac red and dappled with new ice. I clear the fence by a mile, free at last, and keep running.