Abandoned Flight Patterns

Go
to a cabin
isolation
in snow
grind coffee
burn pots
boiling water
steep a loose-leafed soul
Your fire in the place
smoke drift
fanning faith
Flames
weave sarcous in and out
through veins
retrace
cutting plains
a heart’s blue river source.
Such promised warmth
when the make-up
the people you’re made of
flash in a wine bottle.
Abandon their hopes
The high is gone
You want it back

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