Cover

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Anticipation hangs
like snow
on the edge of a bough.
Right now,
if someone touched me
I would slide
to the ground
a huge mound
of cold, white
me.

Home lies
around this curve.

Twenty years of absence
has made my heart
at least
pound louder, stronger
but what of their's?

Will mother forgive
and father forget?

Maybe, if I stand here
long enough
the snow will cover
my mistakes
as easily
as my footsteps...