It sits on my desk, snow finally still,
two children sledding in place
the hilltop holds them high, imagined firmament
the rest of their world obscured

"Follow me," he intimates,
the snow is powerless under his feet;
the sky shouts its droll monotone;
she trails behind him, smiling in song.

                The wolves track through the snow, journey unrelenting

And she shouts "go!"; his feet push to fly downward
and her hands dig into all,
and the sled creaks beneath them, to yield is such trial
they coast past the hills, the mountains we craft

                And they pause in the forest; the hunt their dream to fulfill

And to collapse is so easy, satiation has come,
so heads fall short to the ground
and our days are tired, there is little left
so dusk will be quick to follow.

        And merciless the wolves are upon them
        they tear them apart in their jaws,
        their cries pierce the night as needles through patchwork
        to slip and fall through the floor.