Aftershock 2

I must turn black road into silver ribbon
and lie in the brownness of dead bracken on this speckled fell.

Snow will drift like optimism over the smooth curve of my back
until I am buried like a broken cup,
porcelain under porcelain.

You will find me.

I will sing to you in springtime.
I will seep into icy rivulets so you can cup your hands and quench your thirst.
You will feel me when you touch the long limbs of the pine in the forest.

You will find me.
I will take my first breath.