Creation is in our breath
our silk noise is frozen cold
as sound fills the capped peaks
as a red bike sticks out of the snow
that covers each dead root
it cushions each robin's  fall

it hangs from branches
like blank tears, long sheets
of white paper
a fox mother guards her silver cubs
she wears a white coat when she comes
the snow is what she knows

i have not seen these hills
since she came to me
offering her eyes
that see through the clear silence
she stared, and crushed my sound
till she scampered away

the black ravens fluttered empty
the leaves echo from the skeleton
the sound echoing like a shot
our boots sinking into deep holes
his feet leave tracks on the snow
where mine have left

when I turn he is not there
i can hear the raven's wings
and our tracks lie asleep in the snow
where mine have left

when I turn he is not there
i can hear the raven's wings
and our tracks lie asleep in the snow