I buried a friend's wand, today.

I put a piece of tumbled Prehnite
and dark Turitella in my pocket
and made my way blindly towards the snowy
flesh of the river. I held an apple in one gloved
hand, but I did not eat it.

I traded it for whatever good will the spirits would
be willing to give. I breathed in the mountains
and assured them that I did not
need my eyes to see.

The new moon solidifies this fact even more.

The ice glitters disarmingly and tries to trip me up
when I get distracted, but I smile at it anyway.
The sun scares off the sad little creatures eating
my vitality as I speak poetry only the
Soul of the World
can understand.