|sage in the snow, spring 2013|
When cold and wind are busy kissing their
thin chapped and crackled lips, when snow
becomes a flattened ice blanket and where
our breath will bellow out the smoke of cold;
When days are shorter than the dark recess
of fear and unforgiven memory,
and curtains closed to hold out excess frost
of eyes and expectations of the town;
When corridors of rooms remain all closed
in with excuses that save heat, but more
to mask the old remnants of life that is
long gone and long to ever see return;
Then any small gesture can bring on spring.
Love is as simple as a bowl of soup.