A little life with
Works and schemes
And white hairs strangled in the snow
Feathers more than choked I hope,
Well oh **** help me...
Let me go?

Snow Callie.
One Callie
Cally-in-the-Spring.
That's maybe what they'd call you
Based on what your life could bring.

So many names invented
Based on hedgerows where you hide
Tell me you're not lurking there
- or tell me you're alive -
Don't. I see you Em, and Em and maybe all besides
I see you smile sadly and the lonely long low tides
The waves crash on; I think I know - I see the way she smuggles much
I know she smuggles something and yet never quite enough

Break rocks and snap her feathers
but maybe do not curl her
locks
For I know she's taking notes and her world will be made of rocks.