The Blizzard

In these hours of our winter habit,

the sun goes down before we are ready.

The plain roofs vanish, the wind swallows

& marries the town, & the show keeps & keeps

going. The snow is an already amount, a stuck amount,

a you are worried about the asters in the garden

that have only just begun to reliably bloom amount.

How will they survive now? This bright parade,

the way it holds us weightless on the surface

of this season, is a complication against our million

daily strains against rest. But your boots are by the door.

The oven hangs open in a valiant attempt at heat

& we coo to each other: oh our dreary skies: oh how lucky

we are to be so doomed & with each other. You say:

this is how it goes sometimes, you know? Two hot strangers meet,

die young, meet again in a blizzard. I say, come, don’t jinx it,

huddle here on the couch. Do you see? I love you is a language we keep

getting wrong. There will be no complications today.

embarrass yourself in my embrace. I love you is a noise depending

on another noise. Sometimes: a shutting door. Sometimes:

a phone call. Today: the weather report & a simple intake of air

on one cold & trusting day. Today, I love you is a blanket curved

to our likeness. I love you is my windowside vigil when you go, foolishly,

to check the garden. When you hold out your hand, I hide mine

beneath yours. When you hold out your hand, I take it

& it's warm.