365 Poems – 170 Leaving (Rough First Draft)

Leaving

I collect wounds,

and bury them,

while gulping light

and watching

wonder crystallize.

 

Depression fails

to recover shape.

 

I will leave behind

my compass.

 

My heart and feet

know North well.

 

I know I will not

be reborn in snow,

but if I stay here,

chance of survival

is slim.

 

Anyway, blood

is thicker in winter,

and will keep me warm.

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