Winter howls,
her fingertips prying
to enter the spiral maze
we attempt to control.

Yet, green eyes between here and how.
Chalkboard road blocks
of reflected memories in painted warped lights.
Rushing winds of passing trains,
run free with wolves.

Ah, but our bones are steady and grounded.

Another's skin could answer
mind riddles
or slur truth, like the lips of bottles.

Houses full of empty people.
Holding their own souls
in vacant palms jars
waiting to learn to trust.

What lonely arms to cherish.