The man across the road; arms crossed,
with his mind occupying nothing.
The snow starts. Last evening it was there,
but you were not awake to look out the
front window.

You saw him, though, last year. Waiting.
You thought of your own lost ones,
always lost. It was never there.

You walk to the front door, forgetting your hat and mittens.
It's cold. You walk toward the man, and stop
at your side of the street.

"Hello young man."
"Hello."
"It took you a long time."
"Only a year."
"You forgot."
"I did not."


That's right. You never forgot.
You held yourself at night and kept away.
Cause why would you ever want it blown open?
Cross winds occur nightly now, and the snow
tells you so.
You still don't know which way to go.

You see their smiles in your sleep
and try to dream of other things
but the warming keeps you paralyzed
there is nothing you can do,
you already let it go.

Next winter the man will be there, too. Waiting.