The Difference Between Winter and Wander is Two Letters

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mud on my sneakers      song stuck in my head
“Kiss City” on the unmarked trail, no terrain
for distraction       
this absolutely undirectional pull

twice I passed a blue spruce cone on red clay,
a shock of contrast that could not be replicated

(you are the center of a small universe) 

a poet talks to the faculty about the wandering
it takes to language outside systems of crimped process
the path through not-knowing

and for days that’s all I do      wander       and use breaks
to fill out crosswords, a practice      of refutation

(you are the small center of my universe)

each breath shard crystallizes the expanse
between lung and longing      I could

stand in the cold      crunching street salt underfoot
my cheeks numb, forgotten
for longer than I like to admit      

could we
spare the breath the pain it takes      to crystallize
that unspoken bidding       to choose and be chosen

(you small the universe, you center me)