Memories of gleaming moments with him weave through my Denver reality. I’m like a raven standing on a pile of bones, picking a romance clean. Its an obsession, that haunts me. Does it feed me? Or am I scavenging my memories for those gleaming moments to tell the truth of what is hunting me?
I’m waiting for a a big winter storm to sweep through and blanket Denver with white,
leaving behind a pristine landscape wiped clean of bones, no visitation by ravens.
Covered by silence.
Fresh tracks going in different directions.