and sometimes it pulls on me.
The line, it inks across the freshly fallen snow,
Where only those embracing coldness would go
It whistles & it whispers, and sometimes it howls,
It sings to me sweetly from the trees & in vowels
The line, it writes itself across the dark sky,
In the electric flushes ending with a sigh
It weaves itself into a fabric so true,
and flows just like river, graceful and blue
great lake swimmers