No solace in
hollow trunks. Just space
to fill.
In, out -
nothing quite sits
the way we used to.
Critters like to move around
build their homes in snow and then
vanish. Nothing
to remind us they were here.
I would say I miss them,
but I forget who they were.
What am I to do
with space?
Everything at once becomes
full
and then,
spring