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.