I wonder if the word fused is linked to the word confused.
There was never a snowfall like that one, that December.
So we wore the shoes, the snowshoes.
We wanted to have a Canadian experience.
Leaving the warmth of a fully functioning vehicle. Warm.
Launching out into the who-knows-what.
Strapping on those tennis rackets, I looked at your
unflinching face. Nothing but adventure there.
Miles silently above the drifts, we trod, flakes falling.
Were I to ask the question, I know what you would answer.
Did you ever see anything as wonderful as that lynx?
Neither have I. I have not.
But we do not speak to each other anymore.
And I cannot help but wonder on this empty empty night
if the word link is linked to the word lynx. Does
saving such a memory ruin all that might yet be -- savory?
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