we were, pushing back up in the aftermath. There you are
proudly displaying a cutthroat in its sun-latticed net, on skis
a fleece-swaddled blur in a spring storm, and with your third
Lab, a tuned-in pup who loves you by returning what you
throw into cold vastness where instinct kicks in early.
Carrying on-- and at times those windows
I will never fathom.
To step into, the black coffee softened with cream and honey.
And catching ourselves. In a dream, the dream that Spring
Of heaven at the last, where a whole geneology awaits, wavering
there like paper geishas to take us through
To keep burning—for us, for you, and the wearing down
now on its cusp.