I bandage
my sister's wounds
with rose petals,
crooning our mantra . . .
all will soon be well
in with the new
shorn fields
scintillate with frost
except
in the shadows
where antelope lie
we wait
for lake-effect snow
on the verge
of knowing something
that hasn't happened yet
winter camping
in the high country
I have been
too long without this
kinship of mountains
a phoenix
of northern lights rises
above the prairie . . .
bird without feathers,
song without sound
fat clusters
of snowflakes drift
toward earth
I wonder where life
will take us next year
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