Yesterday I went walking
in the ice and snow
alongside my creek.
As it trailed down the mountainside, I trailed up,
lured by the music of water,
the juniper on the breeze,
the gentle sweep of sage against boots.
The wind smelled like a whisper
up there in the bird song.
My heart swam out of my chest,
a robust ribbon,
and suspended itself in the sunlight
that faded into narrow shafts of gleam
as it traveled down through a bony aspen canopy.
The world and I dangled there;
hanging like prepositions at the end of a string of words.
Hanging like
the aftertaste of harmony
on still lips.