winter moons hang heavier
hands held flat
to catch snow melt
is there grace in this letting?
gravity gives over,
silhouettes crackle polyphonic
hearts swallowed in drifts
a feather a finger
a whole no space answer,
sorrow poured in steel
over leftover buttons,
a house made of halves
a boot shuffled sentence
over untouched laneway
consoles the bend between
ribs. I find myself searching
for lost things,
constantly.