snowshoes in our hands

the white butts
of the three antelope bounding off up into the
juniper-dotted hills
as Sam and Austyn and Kristen and I
make our way along the creek,
snowshoes in our hands
the technique of stepping into the snowshoe tracks
that Austyn, just ahead of me, leaves
and how difficult it is to undo them, snowsealed
and the switchover point on the hanging bridge


like a pink desk
like stationary that says stay magic in rainbow luminescent colors
like thermal silks to keep me cozy,
a box from texas with my name on it arrives,
organic grapefruit and oranges tucked in the nest inside

the crisp fillets
of breaded fish
served alongside
homemade tartar sauce
served alongside
the most beautiful salad yet
served alongside Judy’s slushee margaritas
it feels celebratory, like a saturday night
on a thursday
no one cut a moon
so sickled and bright
like tonights’
mountainblue ink sky
speckled with surrounding stars

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