Winter Blue
Snow
like a cyclone of flour
outside.
Here behind the door,
wherever your arm falls
you hold me,
independent of the course of your thoughts.
I can’t see your face
behind those lidded lights but I know
I’m sitting on some stairs
on some streetcorner of your mind,
a long walk
down dark allies…
But then you look down
homemade light makes windows of your eyes.
Your body pours
like milk into mine.
In the evening
leaving your brown fire,
going into the white world
I melt the snow into smoke with my steps,
and keep the frost off my face
with my tears.
December 1972
Posted for Magpie Tales # 43
One of my earlier poems that just happened to fit the prompt...
