the mountains feel stronger from far away

i want an honesty i can wrap in wool

sweaters and to draw waned 

moons on a wrist just as 

braceleted. just as white. love wasn't 

always an empty pocket

and i remember when my hands

were not shaped out of ash.

i could sit near open windows,

i could hold a hand.

i wish i still had the wingspan of a thief.

back then the mountains were only shelter.