The snow fell apart in the winter room.
The bitter nights were cold and lonely.
The snow fell into my shoe
And I bent to pick it out with my thumb,
My eyes bright they see stars.
The sky is gray;
I am going kayacking.
I tell myself words I wouldn’t want to hear
Any other time.
I sing myself words I don’t want to understand.
You told me you wouldn’t sing to me.
You told me the banjo plays softly in the other room.
The words creep softly across the page.
I sing gently and cry about the woman on the stage.
They are reading scripts again.
They are seeking resolution when there is none.
They are crypting phonographs and turn styles and
The cake is burning in the oven.
I make myself a sandwich.
This morning, you told me you
Would not go out for a pack of smokes.
Of heartstrings plucked and riddled with doubt.
Of the snow that is both cold and debates
That the clock that has been strung has stilled.
The hills are wrought in colored snow.
The rainbow is stinted in silver rays of rain,
That splice through the clouds,
And onto gentle meadows-
The man’s boots are covered with dew.
You told me you would not go out.
You had gone out yet again,
That the morning dew is full of bright
The stores are open. We talk about this or
A sparrow chirps in the trees,
Its singsong voice loud in a green meadow.
The field is covered in snow.
I didn’t know sparrows could sing in snow.
That dancing was their rhythm.