Before The Snow Falls Again



The snow makes a sound

When it is the most silent

Spoken layers, hot tongue

Venom love, words drop


The ache twists, gnarled

Shoestring fingers grasp

A cold hold, on a softness

First appearing as steppes


So many footprints, now

Lead into the empty green

Forest, trampled high against

The clearest of skies, that

Scorch a stinging, chilled breath

Into a tingling loss, where

The tips of toes and other

Firsts out of socks, scratch

Across the brunt of blue, digging

A deeper hollow made deathly purple


The meadow cannot be seen

Flowers wait their turn

Begging for Earth’s mortal cycle

Blood, Moon, and Gravity


The dirt, grass, and weeds, are

Sirens bending the ground

To circle round, to rise, waxing

Before the snow shrieks, again








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