the foxes scream

sleeping outside

early or is late?

hearing the foxes scream

only when I do this

do I remember

the why of it

the joy in night sounds

crackle of wood

sighing of the fire

it is me who gets in my own way

in the doing more of this

remembering the cold morning

the wake of aching bones

unyielding stiff hard ground

rather than the conversations

as we stare into the embers

when our truths get told

our closeness comes in

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