Snow reminds me of cold, reminds me of Christmas, reminds me of you. Now every time it’s cold, I wonder how much snow could crystallize from the tears we cried. I wonder how hot it would have to be to dry our eyes. When you were in my arms, you weren’t in my poems. Now, you are the poem. You are that eternal aching, that quivering pen, the light at the end that blinds me and then comforts me and then reminds me how to write again. On your shores, I am a ship, but in your seas, I don’t know how to swim. So I’m nailed to the mast breathing you letters from the past. Don’t leave me, or at least come back when you need me.
June 6th, 2013