we fell into unwilling hibernation
that early spring. trees hadn't yet
bud their impertinent blooms into the
brooding ides of march. life,
oblivious, hadn't yet paid its room
and board for an early november
check-in. sealed in and slumbering, 
breathing was made unprecious, 
mattering dematerialized us, numbness
overwhelmed our stored selves. 
thoughtless meltwater loosened, 
dissolved, and removed the natural paths 
between us. and staying
in the back of our caves, 
surrounded by scant reserves, 
we never considered what 
wintering through another 
season's cycle might mean.


climbing down i've noticed
that there's little
more than shadows and echoes
at the bottom of a well.
in that dark, handholds
could just as easily grab
as release. shadows tending
to bend upward, relying on
fickle seasonal sunshine to
rise, give chase to echoes.
and the echoes seem to
dissolve outward seeking
faded freedom in the sky.