A collection of embraces

Each step a made-up word,

seeing art in a parking lot snow pile

relying on an automated decision tree

to calculate how long before flight

A roadside flower across the country

imagining a red-walled library

and more clouds and more rain

whenever the chorus begins again

Maybe we’re meant to be bog people

taking our sin in a stew

or maybe we’re water fowl in disguise

I’m ready for dreams to take me to you