jangle in pocket.
Jnagle dangle loose.
Keys open doors
The way home keys,
list in the oceans a ship in the snow
placed. Under sighs and collapses.
Portable brass, the black earth is covered.
Underfoot, a nethe.
When hands are pressed together, the feeling fails,
as if you yourself are not really
there not touching, a dream of existence.
I wander in the wonder,
imagine what snow meant in melt and drift.