Single digits in the dark
crystalize the night,
level bars of frozen mist
across the snowfield in first light,
pale blue against the woods,
pale blue against the woods,
as those of us who watched for dawn
add our tracks to yesterday's,
the heat of memory
lifting from our flesh,
old enough to know regret,
and though the past is never past,
we are still young enough to want
the next thing and the next.
the heat of memory
lifting from our flesh,
old enough to know regret,
and though the past is never past,
we are still young enough to want
the next thing and the next.
