What goes between
is trapped by pockets
of air, themselves trapped by flakes of snow
that alter under pressure, become ice
a captured story that contains
that day’s actions, a hand
light upon soft skin
around the nape of neck, bare
foot taps another foot’s toes and nails
in time with a current song, bodies push
and weave into spaces that yield
and return, words too
become ensnared, buried
in time, squeezed into tales
barely remembered, then comes
a time in light, an action triggers
the memory, sunshine releases air
after a century
of being compressed, thirty
or more years ago now, laughter, hair
blown by a breeze from a time
before climate
became the talking point
a time
before children walked the earth.