Something softened me. Too many yesterdays, all those invisible tomorrows.
I look for their footprints in snows not yet fallen.
a brown cabin - wintered up - ready for bedtime Westerns, mexican standoffs - sleep and perfectly empty
Pile in with me, where it is warm. A marvel! How your hands rest, your perfume Ivory soap, the shiny skin of your pimpled back, a glaze of hair on your forearm. Designed by heaven to be put behind my neck.
I am not made of sparks - I am made of soft slow fires and sunsets.