Through the window
snow does its damnedest to stick
on hot streetlit concrete and
windshields still warm
from tweens rushing by on their
longboard
scooter
harness
listless
stroller
bikes
rainbow
tasteful sneakers. Hand prints and
smoke rings blossom into hula hoops
against glass. Hours ago and
a few days ahead, only a few.
By street light,
snow flurries
do not stick.
Snowball fights are
out of the question.
The stairs are an afterthought.
Tongue out.
By streetlight,
one sorbet snowflake at a time.
You have to wait
seven months
to breath
the chance
to do it
again and again,
snowflake by snowflake,
consume until
the cold runs hot
&
fingertips burn black.
