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first printed by our boots

on March snow in California.

Fir branches outstretched, 

dripping sugar flake melt. 

The low sun flashes between 

long strides and tree spires.

Giants among us, watching 

pickups and centuries turn. 

You delight at the rambling 

tangle of our two tracks. 

I delight at your smile cracked 

wide. A light of its own. 

Twig snaps, antlers bob and

the following silence suspended. 

Hung around power lines and the

milk face moon, lifting her veil.

Behind us, those steps taken.

Ahead, those not yet underfoot.