Trampled Footprints

The snow is warm blooded.
Did you know?
Could you tell?
Could you feel its veins,
Touch your fingertips?
The arching arms and sliding legs
Left angelic imprints
Against its warming chest,
And gears were left turning
In its head, from the machinery
That dug the Grand Canyon
Around papier mache walls.

Slowly
The lakes turned into ice
And the hearts turned into lakes
Quickly.

Pages turned with pictures
From the photo album,
Submerged in the glossy Mylar
Sleeves – that shelter memories
From forgetful eyes –
And it all came back
To greet me here.

© Jeremiah Dowling February 13th, 2007

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About Jeremiah Dowling

I write poetry and take crazy pictures in an Orange Chair all over the United States while reading amazing books.

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