Walking the Winter Mountain with One Dog

for Andrea Spain

Our bearded neighbor said he saw
boot tracks in snow roving through
our land. He put his foot inside a foot
shaped hole, enlarged it, your small
Vibram sole print, ballet toes behind cold
steel, danced about by canine tracks:

one set, one less than last year.

I wonder if you met January spreading
gentle shepherd remains on land who,
unwary, receives our bodies in blood
and ash. If I were large enough, I would
hold you that way, as liquid or dust,
and let the wind do what it does to us.


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