WHEN THE SPRING CAME

there was no snow that year.
moths bloomed like
weeping willows, wisteria
up the sides of stooping duplexes,
crawling in the mists
and dying as the sun sunk low.

there was no snow that year.
but there was frost, clinging
to the window panes
with tense hands, calloused fingers.
desperate to touch
as the sun sunk low.

there was no snow that year.
the path to your house was clear
and i could see the light on—
lifted my red face in the blue evening
searching for your silhouette
as the sun sunk low.

there was no snow that year.
our promises kept us warm
and our hands knit together.
we will make a scarf—one, two
—cast off the woolens

as the sun sinks low,
we sink into the silence
of a fallen snow.

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