Morning Traces Haiku

My finger traces
a map of your jawline to
keep in my pocket.

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Finally, Haiku

Fresh snow, overdue
invitation to climb up
into the forest.

Post-holing, we have
the wrong shoes.  We don’t mind.  Sun
between the branches.

Different stages
of freeze and thaw ~ waterfall,
raging stream, our feet.

Ice trail leads into
the belly of a mountain ~
if this cave could talk.

Pre-adolescents
notice the sacred, feel how
large the story is.

By the river that
could carry us away, our
hands in our pockets.