Snow slowed to the murmur
Of flames flickering softly
Against a glacial chimney,
Melting then freezing
A pastel epoch of spring
Is forged within the placidity of winter,
Warmth in the hollow
A crevasse between
Trout stream and pine tree
Etched out with leather ladened ash
Embroidering the intervals of breathing
And ignition
With ink swells on paper
And coffee between
The spaces of language,
Lace hung like memoirs
Surrendered from thought
Released to the wild
With hope of being able to thrive
And maybe they’ll be easier to identify
When the weather warms up,
When the ice recedes
Taking with it
Every bit of recognition,
Will we still be able
To find our way back?


Author: Montana Svoboda

I'm a genderless poet currently living in Central Michigan where I attend college for Environmental Science and English. Nature's some cool shit, frisbee's a neat activity, fountain pens are best pens, Latakia for life, coffee and tea keep these gears turning.

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