365 Poems – 193 Snow Brings Death (Rough First Draft)

Snow Brings Death

Sun spat out his light

hours ago, and my lower

body is numb as stone.

 

I think of her, in the cabin,

with pink lemonade breath.

I’m hungry for her tongue.

 

The mink I trapped for

her coat have long gone,

buried until spring melt.

 

Between elongated echoes

of thread thin wolves,

I hear my lungs crackle.

 

Wolves remember

traps. My mitts and hood

–          part of their pack.

 

Moon brings peace with

her shadows, and from

between ribs of trees,

wolves emerge, smiling.

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