Indicted,
the firm grass―
will start a fire. I was trying
to find my path in smoke.

On fingertips, was at stake,
the creek's departure.
I would wear a mask
hiding my emotions.

We will wait for the spring.
There was still a mound of snow
at the door.

The **** of the moon
was not in cards. We were ready
to sit in moonlight, reading
our hands.

Philosophy of death
has many questions. Religion
of birth has many answers.