the press of winter
the economy of winter
has become a love
it ways I didn’t possess in my youth
this presence this understand takes me by surprise
I walk in winter the bone white stretch straight to the blue bright sky never ceases
when did we stop seeing
when did youthful exuberance fade into the adults place of responsibility
when did we give over the surprise of seeing
to the place of trying to tell someone else what it means
when did we humans
begin to tell ourselves we held the key