First Snow Nothing different, nothing rare just this falling everywhere like a shattered, silver crown falling softly, quickly down on the branches of the tree that arched above us. You were holding me again, life returned that fire within, I held my breath, I let it out. Nothing touched us in that room, but later in the open, falling midnight air, the snow seemed perfect, adamant, and fair – I raised the window to stretch my arms toward snow now dusting the stalwart tree grounded there –

and later in the morning light

I'd watch you walk

below me, pacing off your property, caressed by lightest, silver snow, yours, soon melting, soon to go. So what would bind us? Not mere weather -- perhaps the knowledge that once together the thirst we felt could be not quenched by snow, or time, that resolute distance.