Tracks
It had been snowing paw prints
and rabbit runs. Ice fell from me
in its own sharp-tongued language;
We got here by reading different maps.
We shot bolts and sprang locks,
eventually we trapped the same sky together.
Now we can say our names
without lips abusing hearts.
When I was not in love
I wrote snow poems,
now I write in the sky,
and how like a running river
my speech has become.
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