A blanket A covered stretch of ground to cross in due time A blank face A blank slate An empty head tonight moves across this white space
I've crunched through snow and Summer both. Fused years, found friends and let dead ones go. This axe to grind has grown dull, I know-- and cumbersome on ground yet to cover. As days splice fibers into 12 month rope, Hang this warm hat on one thing I know: that I've still got ground left to cover.
Slow breathing breath steaming off into dioxide cold night It drifts towards the moonlight, ghost of a laugh escapes, leaks into the night sky
A half hour A half-smile stretching through my creasing face now I laughed when you sang me Chantilly Lace as we walked across that cold town
I've weathered snow and rainstorms both. Fused years, found friends and let dead ones go. This frown of mine has grown dumb and old and cumbersome on ground yet to cover. As days splice fibers into 12 month rope, hang memories on one thing I know: that I've still got ground left to cover.
The rivers, like parks and roads, stitch places to times to sew us homes. These year-long cords stretch between our doors across all this ground yet to cover.
Their names are a cascading brine "Red," "Big Goose, "Clark Fork," "Assiniboine." The years flow homeward, my pride erodes-- silt layer on ground left to cover.