like the sound of bones

two thirty a.m.
lisi the cat climbing all over me,
me a small mountain range
and he a gigantic lion
the kitchen a spill of window prism rainbows
in morning sun
juniper walks into
while i move from warrior two
to half moon

the pain in my knee
begging the bell to ring
(surely, it has been 50 minutes, no?)
and my deep breaths
quelling the pain in my knee
on the four mile loop walk,
we stop to talk to pine trees,
to listen to a singing bird perched on a snowbank,
to thank the blue shadows and crunchy shapes
in the snow pushed up to the edges of the road
soft with melt
i learned a new spanish word from gabi
for “skeleton”
she says calacas
like the sound of bones knocking against each other
dog paw prints as big as a palm
pressed into the blonde gravel
wet on this day of melting

the blue puffy jacket
gripped in my hand
on the final bend
where we are protected from the wind
with the sun at our backs

what we call pink birch branch hour
which really only lasts minutes
as the sun sinks
and how the blue of sky that the pink birch branches
glow against changes too


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