Gray Matter

Pretend not to love shimmer
of snow, unstoppable
against sun as it drops,

heavier through sky,
more gorgeous than our
own attempts… Danger

is only part of the aesthetics
disguised by jutting
mountainsides, secrets

in every crevice while rivers
run from invisible heights
into the valley of you.

Too hard to hold hands
against the currents,
but we’ll keep trying

(for no good reason) to push
away ghosts telling us tales
of red-stained woe, falling

on our own swords, not blinded–
I believe in a lot of things,
but I question a lot more.

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