Snow-ground (a poem)

what have i become?

this place feels familiar –

sights, sounds, sensations

like softness of blankets,

wrapped in cocoons in

woodland winters

lying on snow-ground

ice crusted on my nose –

who knows when the

savior will appear?

burning bright white

calling me home

i’ve yearned for it & can

taste it on my frozen tongue

(Photo by Aleksander Pedosk on Unsplash)


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