WANDERING

I too play at the edges of knowing.

I walk riverbanks in pale pink morning,

leave my boots muddy

at the door to places

I never fully call home.

I do not feel the need to carve

my initials into this landscape,

I pray for impermanence.

A snowflake poised

on my son's pink nose,

melts into pore-less sking.

His eyes wide,

amazed.