Should I start shouting their names, for the things that run off? It has been snowing all night, and the snow has frozen to a crisp,

in the bitter cold, the creek has risen and is racing along, over the mossy stones. drowning out my own voice, calling the ones that run off,

to hurry back,

listening to the wind howling and swirling and leaping,

diving up and down.

who am I, really, to summon them back?,

through the dark night, and the secret

paths of their lives, to come back to me,

to walk alongside me, and be obedient.