birch and grasses alone on the snow, grey sky indistinguishable. the flat world falls into the edge of time, lifeless, dull wedge of horizon and soundless quiet, not only forgotten but unremembered in the silence, absent where we hope some time will pass without cold, without remembering how lost the time was, lost and alone on the pine needles, the falling leaf floating, buffeted, falling in the wind the time the graceful fall, the wondering if time ever changes, if time lies still on a blanket of snow, tracks barely press or imprint, tracks or the sound of your voice calling across the time, and when I hear the call calling I reach and almost forget to look or remember or hold and we fall, fall deep into the time where your eyes look past shadows, past the tree silhouettes, the birch bark close to the snow, falling and silent in time stretched out, forgotten in the loss of time, the only memory of time and still we wait, hovering above time like you remember. and all this time we wait, the hills and trees fall and fade and all time forgets. and still you come back, you and the memory of walking, falling, rolling in time, and now is what we know, this ever present beginning of time, chance, forgetting. as if each one, each look a miracle of this small sense echoing across the sky, the undissolved border a boundary that brings you into time, this moment’s light a forgiveness that isn’t needed, a voice you almost hear and push against the way we call when each small thing is alive like a rock, forged in time. wait