Winter Snow, slightly leaning
tock, tap
and then you rose slipping up upon the air
as a snapping desiduous caught in the tongue of a November updraft,
sound splintering and thoughts specking
as the rain transformed to white song
teethed downward toward the ground:
there go the thoughts, there rain'd the touch, there raced the tail of some coppery such twig.
Winter calling you across the globe, dreamsong.
But now
what to do with the creek in my neck
the cringe stiffened from watching skyward,
as a meerkcat in defense of the sky,
Suricata suricatta,
surrender when the strain comes not from vanity
but from the only thing that made sense:
the defied.
You defied gravity and pulled me kiteward and made sure i felt accumulated there:
In the vein of the crook of an aging ligature
in the wash of fractals and limbs,
our heart drifting over the land, the dead and the living,
left, right and the slightly leaning
we,
a flurry of blanket white, souls ondinging,
digging out from the sky's traveling,
the skift scattering, a speed boat traveling in stealth
neve, known and our cornsnow joining, winged
Away,
the day and all of what you have spun
and all of what you have penned.
And we race snow-pawed toward a thawing heart
Amend.
