AS A FROST MOTH IN NOON-DAY THAW

Winter-shrouded wooded ground ― bitterly cold ―

plodding snowed over paths.

 

Whirling snow kisses. Helping me live.

 

Cutting in ― setting traces in time ―

hearing a frozen to death stone rapture.

 

Sensing emotions colden.

 

Future now stands here in the trace-meeting ―

knowing the inner in your voice ― in our two parts:

Let me become the most beautiful spring-freed leaf you’ve seen.

Leave a fogprint

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