Winter has settled in,
deep snow marking the
divide separating
predator and prey.
Sheltered from bitter wind,
thinly marked trails
through woods are
flecked with blood.
Here a little,
further on a little more.
I close my eyes to imagine
the scene.
Was there a last minute escape,
one more chance at life?
A coin with two sides,
one will flourish and the other
become a ghost.
When does remembering become
imagining?
We lose our grasp of
how things were,
and live with
the perfection of
wishing.
Categories: Poetry