Precipitation and a Man Can Fall from any Angle and Land

Mine were the first footsteps in the snow. Your stone legs bent, your hands on waist. There was no head, only your body climbing out of the frame. Like the view, memory cuts out and is a little leaning to the left. Somewhere in the world it is summer, spoke through bare tree branches. Somewhere in the world it is night and somewhere--

As a species we have little instinct left. Feel the ground through tremble lips. Watch with your ears, hear from which direction a train is coming.