So we shoveled it. Climbed over it. When a boy's loved he is loved. We kissed him at the countdown then we went to bed. Then I woke and on the screen an executioner whose wife for him was worried. Both on and off the screen there was still a lot of snow. I went out and stuck my hand in it, felt around for a handle. None. So I picked myself up and walked to the bank. Does it seem I am alone? No, not alone. The wind was a friend. Dying and down. I bent over, I listened to the flow. Home, yes, but leaving. Home, sure, fine, but, where's the bathroom? Where's the light? Anyway, the soft swell said, lisping its S’s, Anyway, if you're at home here, you're a guest. So I bowed. I said I'm sorry if I bore you. Broad, the river belled in a thud of sun. I climbed aboard, I rowed. A border flew open like a cough. I leaned back to balance my heavy brown oars as they dipped to green and red furrows of light between water mounds. My boat rocked, steady, un-steady. Was I welcomed? It seemed I was as I gripped and privately beheld. The night soon lost its head. I said, I'm here. Pulling up now, parking, looking for something to eat, to redeem. The wind shook the seedpod but the seedpod wasn't moved. And though I thought I'd done the damage I was born for, there was still so much to step through, so much to mar.
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