I walk down into

Our forest, the breath of pines

Crisp over the snow

Bright sky through dark limbs.

My boot heels sink into black.

Cold and wet, this world

Lifts up, clean and spare.

I live between white and white

Greens and blues stripped bare

Until suddenly

Three does rush through, hoofs on snow

Circling, turning home.

I turn too. My breath

Is hot, steaming in the still

Blanket of this world.

My boots by the front door,

Our house warm as laundered sheets,

This home, us, breathing.

Colleen Keefe, 2020