I don’t know what you think of

when it snows

but as the cold fluff floats down

beyond my window

I am living in two Januaries past

moments frozen in time

like icicles hanging from bare branches.

I remember pizza frozen on the picnic table

beet and brussel-sprout soup in a stranger’s cabin

we could only reach by bounding through the drifts like bunnies

cold nutella smeared on bread.

I remember wet rock and a slick ride in the dark

peeing on the side of the road and laughing

at the headlights

your bare back as we lay by the fire

and slipped gratefully into the dark

behind our closed eyelids.

I remember the hush of the forest

all green and white and black bark

unbroken ground

the very air crystal

mist hovering in the gorge

forest and river more sacred than any church

I have ever seen.

I remember coming home to fires

and tea in the mornings

and how happy I was when you knew

just where to find it in my pantry

all by yourself.

I remember walloping each other with snowballs

slipping down the hill on a sled stacked three long

betting on who’d swim in the lake

teaming up to tackle you into the snow

the satisfaction of catching up to you

of hearing your laugh

in the empty neighborhood streets.

I wonder what you’re doing now

I bet you’re stealing trays from dhall

and sliding down library hill

there’s a snowball fight on the green

and maybe even frisbee with the crew

you’re still the fastest of them all

and nobody minds.

I’m still here

watching the snow fall

with a small sad smile

wishing I was with you.