There are squirrel tracks in the snow,
Trapped in the dimensions of white.
Was he hungry or restless?
The trees stand shameless, bare.
Bold blackened bark, stoic guards
As winter whispers patience
And to dream until the dream freezes
Into a swarm of hunting snowflakes.
Is desire kept in them?
Icy when left alone?
Beguiling in a twinkle of sparks?
Yet when a handful is held they melt
And burn your hands as desire melts regret.
The trees know the season’s riddle.
They’ll wait for desire to awaken.
Hear them crackle in the wind?
The squirrel has found his tranquility
As we gather our courage in mittens
And roam for desire again.
Copyright 2015 Digestible Ink
photo: By Ranjithkumar.i (Own work) [CC BY-SA 3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)%5D, via Wikimedia Commons