The heart of the earth is soft. Delicate. Ageing and rising. The snow is a funnel. A column of sweet chill that douses our senses in silence. What silence looks like. The touch of silence against our skin. And we are just dancing. Crunching.

My baby speaks so much poetry. Tumbling out of his little lips. My heart speaks so many tides I wish I could quell in myself. So many splashes of anger I wish I could melt. And so many wild loves I only pray I can keep loving.

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