It took until the snow to change my mind.
Distant and loved, I thought of you as trees
chartered our mutual space, but woke to find
a loneliness of snow, a breadth of leaves.
Once known, doubt clouded in. The empty house
seemed now translucent in the winter sun;
objects that caught the light, and let none out
blurred and confused me, memory unspun.
And blundering through snow, I thought I heard
your still-familiar voice, mistook your gait
in the cool white, oppressive as a word,
which dulls the heart to silence, love to hate.
But in the stillness yet, your dreaming face
which time concealed. Which love could not replace.
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