Games of the bones.
Reindeer skeletons, antlers intact,
guard the gates. Soundless mouths,
homemade map without echo.
Chest sunstiff in crystalline air.
Footfalls cry triskelion. Beg tree of life.
December valley its own language.
Breath of paper. Possibility of leaves.
If I admit I didn’t understand the misery,
will you come back. Will you join me.