this script of travel
whose part to play
in returning
or never leaving
in the first place
what has been gained
gleaned from these prints
left in the fallen snow
that lead off
and away
into the cold
why do they wish
for something that way
when here is okay
at least indifferent
when all the world
is the same white
who calls to them
beckons in the frozen veil
memoirs of warmth
written on the ground
in their path
the remains
where is their home
when sweeps the wind
and the script is gone
will the story linger
teeter til the end of time
and then...
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