I.
In my hand, a
boreal owl has died -
Waiting for the spirit to
pass.

The softness of her feathers,
the beauty of this other form
of life. I look
closely.

White and perfect.


II.
Shelter. It sounds so handsome.
Comforting, (real), true -
and yet it is a little wall between a
person and all the rest.
So little there.

The fragility of crystal after crystal can
be my killer.

One small thing plus another equals
a power greater than any shelter humans can
build.


III.
Without electricity.
I am surrounded

by comfort. All of a piece -
myself and the world. Close to
one another.

Boundaries are gone.
Distance has changed.
The rock above are closer

than before. The trees in the
moonlight, the horses so close
I can see the ghost of

their breath.