Yeti

Snow took the print before the foot finished it. A yeti crossed the high white, the snow creature, furred and huge, breath a cloud that did not belong to the wind. People who found the track stopped talking. They carried a yeti gift of that cold size. It comes back in yeti playing cards that chill a warm table, in a yeti notebook whose page fogs as if from a mouth, in a yeti postcard of the white body and the unfinished print. The mountain closes over the track. The stride does not.