the best thing about walking away
with snow covered mountain
in golding pre-sunset light at one’s back
is the eyes feasting
on the scene
the entire return-walk back
laughing in the arms of strangers
while the 5 piece taos contra band plays on
and when our group of five
finally gets the swing the basket move down
we cheer
laura and i on folding chairs
try to figure out where we know each other from
and when we come up short
(not new hampshire, not bread and puppet,
not asheville/north carolina, not a bunch of people’s names i’ve never heard)

liana suggests the possibility
of a past life which is when
we toss around the idea of
me being a doug fir and her being a fern
in a pacific northwest forest
generous glass of wine
(white and fruity)
only half sipped
leaving, liana does a dance
under the wet white falling
gratitude for colliding with you
and your you-ness here i write
while everything out the window
pastels with snow


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