Propelled
Snow settles gently
on the pages
of December,
softening the old stories,
blurring the edges
as night swallows day,
a jawline laced in sunset
and icicles.
As you watch, drifted,
mouse
appears
propelled
like a winged thing
or a breaching whale,
a tiny breath
born of snow.
Sudden owls
draw near,
shrugging their silent wings,
shifting toothy talons,
awaiting
your signal.
Wave them off
this time
while the whiskered drum of
traveling feet
carries you through this
hungry
wood,
each step turning the leaves
of a new trail,
cracking the night open
to the binding.
Carry on. It will hold,
even as snow blooms
and falls, curtaining each chapter,
for even now
another day is rising
to meet you.
Leave the icy tunnels
for a lemoning sky —
you are ready.
Tell the story
within
to the dawn.
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