Flight

An atom pulls itself into being

By borrowing against itself when it will no longer exist.

Is pain like that?

The secret that you hide is your kindness; this,

and nothing else, could destroy.

I speak against the silence,

And write because I should not

because there is so much to say:

my anger for you is perverse and

a survivor's guilt, because you could take all and will not.

The woodsmoke on the air today

Is what I offer you

And every crunch of snow I snapped

where footstep hadn't been.

When it melts it will have been there

It's power is that it will leave,

marked by when it will not be.