A Personal Note

where do I begin on another February when daylight persists into a faded winter pink dotted by crows determined to grab our road's last salt crystals before dark?

although spring is near and so is love there are times when haunting silence accompanies my yearnings the way endless roads as old songs braid continents

years I have spent in this labyrinth of rests longing to reveal passions I doubt will be accepted

is it better to check water levels if crossings can be only in dreams?

not that I am afraid to grow old it is that I am like an elephant whose trunk treads old familiar paths to water even though her matriarch is blind must it always taste air the same way?