To the north there is winter.
There, frozen rain washes
nothing away. Solid lakes
store movement on flesh
in tiny tracks that ripple
into cracks. Unlike southern
climes, where spider legs
tread light on brittle water,
promising a drowning
but for surface tension
holding all aloft-
feet dancing over blue.





Funny. I just posted one with a spider in it.
This is poignant, lovely, haunting & melancholy, my Friend. Good luck in Mary's contest, Sweetie. 





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