An Ordinary Loop
There is evidence I was here but it is scant. My presence has been filled in, my edges have been smoothed. I am a bare memory.
Carillon
Were the temperature to rise by even two degrees, the sky would instead be pressing the precise part of me that finds it difficult to get out of bed. It would be the devil saying, see? It’s better when you leave the door closed. But the snow has something different to say. It whispers: oh, wonder.
Are You Moving?
The mountains didn’t answer so instead he asked me. I was there to say no my dear, don’t worry. You are moving, I am not.
How to Cry in the Mountains
You scatter pieces of your confidence over the slopes, tucking them between trees and underneath the pillowy white powder. Everything you’ve worked so hard to believe about yourself is flaking off and settling on the side of the mountain.