I fell in love with the North Woods
where snow and I dissolved
seeping in between the cobblestones
with belonging.
They held my secrets
and ancient history,
like forbidden sorcery
only the earth can practice.
I imagine my name whispered by velveteen moss,
stubbornly clinging
to old row house bricks with defiant faith.
But I'm just remnants of a ghost there,
my own heart haunted.
So I tried to love the ocean,
but she kept getting in her own way,
with her non-committal sway,
and everything that stayed
was tide-pool shallow.
I tried to love foreign lands,
wrap myself in different tongues -
Alpine lace was never warm enough.  
Exiled to the desert,
I floated like a feather,
fallen from a crow
who never learned that she could sing.
I've retreated to the mountains,
where the stone walls and I
have become kindred,
torn between the pulling chain
of a heart that longs to love
and no longer believes.