We wander lost within oursleves,

When we’re without

The lost red mitten.

To lose it all,

To find our voice

We lose again,

The warmth of choice

We fall.

To find it through, the tunnel out,

_We must dig with one hand cold._

Numb can fall the line to heart,

Like a lost left mitten.

Wandering with one hand cold,

Gripping numb

Lifes’ handle hold,

We fall.

To find again, our line to heart,

_We must dig with one hand cold._

Red threads we’ve outgrown (we thought),

We grow into chill and loss.

Numbs hands’ line to heart in toil,

We must dig one hand in frost.

To find again a spark in soil,

_We must dig with one hand cold._

Ankle deep in mud in we slip,

Snowbanks up to knees we trip,

Hoping we would slip in love,

Into the grip,

Of the lost red mitten.