pocket of snow.

pockets full of snow,

hands cold as i tuck them in.

and in propinquity, i imagine:

that in all the moments left,

so quiet, with nothing to show,

so motionless, we are snow:

falling, from outreached heights

where all we thought was,

oh, how, like air, we are light.

and like a forest of trees, 

we are too tall to see the 

ground beneath our fallen knees.

snow.

snow falls on my dreams
while i sleep, like
a tree fallin in an empty wood
quiet as a smile
sharp like cracked lips
and crinkled skin
in the winter chill.

you are there with me
the white in your hair
like you are wiser and
softer with the magic (of the
snow snow snow)
the color marking the years
gone by with nary a word
just a twinkle in your eyes
quick like the glimmer of
neon lights on the subway panes

i hug you like i would the ocean
grip you tightly and watch
you slip between my breasts
and hands and soul
leaving me ice cold and
standing alone on the train stop
watching the tail lights
of your train, your soul leaving me