Flirting I am not careful with myself
what attracts me is how uncertainty
might bring rest—recovering before 
any decision. The rivers frozen over
layers of snow on my car, successive
epochs, an unwillingness to shift 
the space it now inhabits. Her gift:
freedom from the weight
she doesn’t know she carries.
I am free to rattle.
The snow piles on 
in waves—can’t remember now who
I was talking to
less than one week since
explaining that I can mark time
in this year without calenders 
by how much I have lost—each month
looks very different from the last.
Walked seventeen kilometres 
hoping to lose a little more.
What did I leave with her? 
I wanted everything returned
no gifts, even involuntary—to mimic
what I felt she’d done to me. 
Instead I gave her freedom too
from whatever rosy self
she’d left behind

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