in the colorado winter 

i wonder if  

this rolling tear will freeze

.

it doesn’t 

it’s salty 

.

still tastes good 

& my dimming romantic dream

still cuts the same here 

.

how can i be miserable 

when white dusted mountains

sit with me

.

tiny frosted flecks grip the baby

hairs on my arms

. 

the silence is a warm hug

it’s louder than anything 

else

it deafens the darkness

for a second or so

. 

thank you

.

the floodlight 

snow plow

creeps by.

i guess that’s my cue 

to stop pruning 

(1/19/25)