I found this place inside the clouds
and fell. Snow-capped cliffs whirred
beneath bound feet, breath
pressed fleece, eyes scanned lines
between snowy mounds and rocks.
You were not there. All I had
was fear of not falling
again, like so many times before.
Repetition. Waiting. The clouds
find ground, sun, cycles
of steam and cooling -- I find
myself inside, inside metaphors of you.
