I feel this love as fingers around
a crystal vase. You are more
bone marrow. And antlers.
And there is my heart,
knee-deep, in tracks:
sundown snowdrift crevasse
you can see from above the Earth
by spaceship. An owl’s nest.
I walk in the tracks of my children. Soft eiderdown magician’s flick saltsparkle. The upside-down night.
I felt you before your arrival; I knew you were there. Like an unseen planet, without spectrometer railways,
tortoise in the grey fingerprint hardened earth.
I walk in the tracks of my children. They spell LOVE.
Peel mother mary, her curtain
sleeves from the matchbox
collars, feverish yellow light
from a candle in a distant window—
Snowflake vessel. I warm her
love between palms. Feather
in the wintering. Remember;
omen. And her glinting visitor,
bright shining stranger, warmth
that can only be imagined,
ember of home.
Maddy Robinson is a writer based in the Rocky Mountains. She is currently working on a collection on travel writing. Her work has been featured on other platforms, including CBC Books, the Ember Chasm Review, and the Viewless Wings poetry podcast. You can find her @maddylibs.