alpine

From the next room, taking care

of things. Food into bites. Dishes.

Riveting denim, holding it together.

Then laughter, absurd cerulean.

I wish you could’ve overheard

it ring, hearty unfiltered

mineral hue. High altitude sun,

palms into the guts of snow.

An alpine lake. Intrinsic

rejoice, cold for no one.

A radiant place. Blameless.

The lacy fragrance of primrose.

The hours fall in cinders

and boulders, scrawl in cursive

vague postcards. I was not meant to be

exposed so close up.

I am trying not to let myself

dissipate here.

Andrea Krause lives in Portland, Oregon. Her work has been published or is forthcoming in: The Penn Review, Maudlin House, HAD, The Inflectionist Review, and elsewhere. You can find her on Twitter at @PNWPoetryFog and at andreakrausewrites.com.