These days of handless shakes, one footprint
Closer to the dark river
We all seem to be looking across
I walk among my oldest friends:
Frost’s birches, the tacky white pines, the spruce field
That might be a secret safe haven
For Santa on the stormiest of Christmas Eves
Once again, in the waning of winter
Single flakes fall fall fall
Like drift wood at sea
Headed where ever they head
When they just let go
I will collect one on my tongue
Taste it’s delicate pattern dissolve
Into me. Into me, this delicate pattern.
One foot into that river, the boy hears his name called
Come home now, breakfast is ready
We are waiting for you.
Part 3 of the trilogy of poems related to this weeks Level UP prompts. This one for Sadje’s.