Somewhere, not here
A field lies open,
Unframed, without
Mind, as if lost,
Waiting on ritual.
In Increments,
I have changed.
Each day dawns
Into itself;
There is no other.
Hear, and here
As well, I
Still seek
Her across
These echoes:
She followed
A fragile winter
Ice across a lake.
I am cold; the wood
Grown dark.
(October 30, 2018)
