Dawn is an orange blur
in mist. Stories flicker
beyond the fire. Whose
body stretches its feet
across the creek? The frozen
arms of spruce caress
your face. Three deer
move like ghosts
along the ridge.
Dawn is an orange blur
in mist. Stories flicker
beyond the fire. Whose
body stretches its feet
across the creek? The frozen
arms of spruce caress
your face. Three deer
move like ghosts
along the ridge.