To Geddes 3 West

It’s fourteen degrees

though they’re calling it fifty,

and I’m missing you.

The damp in my bones is seeping through

in this midwinter thaw.

A cardinal leaps through the rain,

scarlet as snowspeckled Charlotte,

as she leaves green feet in the yard.

We laugh from the third

floor window.

“It’s snowing!” she cries

rustling the pine squirrels

from their Advent naps.

It’s snowing!

But not on these

adolescent ripples in the fields.

No, the snow falls

on grandfather crags

in the land that time forgot,

where fate still means

enough to bring us together.


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