I wonder if he realizes what a labyrinth he is. I actually wonder this. I sit in my mother's house next to the window that looks out to a church I abandoned years ago and wonder. His purity is unmarked; I wish he knew that.
The snow continues to fall, covering up the tracks we left on the path earlier this year.
(I will leave this in a nearly empty wine bottle. Look for it or else it will look for you.)