Tracks
It has been a deep snowfall. Paw prints
and rabbit runs skittering on the white.
Ice blades plummet from tree branches
with a common sharp-tongued language.
I wonder what maps are used
when the tracks disappear
only to reappear somewhere else
as if the space in-between
had lost its way.
The crackle under boot prints
is too loud,
the sky retreats out of earshot.
Up ahead more tracks
and strangely they look like mine.
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2021
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