wandering through road-brown slush
gathering in gutters and repressions on sidewalks
and inside my insensible shoes
(chosen to fit in among lawyers with suits)
wearing mittens in may, remembering january
before i hugged her outside the terminal
and she flew as far away as anyone can get
before starting to come back
and the days following brought the thickest frost
i'd ever seen on every tree, every branch and twig
and i thought how she loved that most
about our winters -- something foreign and spectacular
remember driving through the country
to the place we used to live
being blinded by bright white beauty
white roads white fields white trees white skies
it's probably almost autumn where she is
and here it's supposed to be spring
but the violent wet slow clings to my hair
and mittens that match hers a world away are cold and wet
this may i know it's never enough just to feel love
it's only saying it out loud that's important
only sharing it often, giving it daily
that really counts
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