It is the roots,

That are deep,

In plain sight, …

Maybe one day,

We’ll live in a world,

Without labels, …

Sometimes,

My eyes seem to refuse,

What they readily see. …

Handles freeze.

The insecure,

Cling. …

Frozen fields,

Covered with cracks,

Where fires burn, …

It is her,

I see in my dreams.

The scent of her hair, …

To stand out,

Or be discreet.

Life can feel strange, …

Where we live,

Is often icy and cold.

But with her, …

That which yesterday,

Was accidentally lost,

Today I found. …

Sitting on a bench,

Staring at the orange sky,

Took me back to days, …

When life-signs,

Make little sense,

I try, …

Late summer mornings,

When we walked around,

Thanked the trees, …

I used to believe,

The need to build oneself,

Brick by brick. …

Those old steps,

I once ago climbed,

Will always be with me, …

Frozen fields,

The vast blue sky,

Or a solitary cloud, …

It is there,

Among the frozen trees,

Where dormant dreams, …

Even the smallest,

Of places in this world,

Can be warmly made, …

When iron rusts,

And the coating peels,

It makes me wonder, …

A blanket of snow,

Under the trees.

The frozen ground, …

And quietly,

In a corner he sat,

No longer shiny, …