On a Walk Home

Image by Emma Belanger/

The snow is crystallic,

stepping in crunches. There is ice, 

sheets of forgotten molecules and

slicks of cardinal moments. 

There is shivers inside 

of branches; there is the hollow 

pulpit, raised high, 

and the eyes that fall upon it. 

Beneath, there is the gloss

of water, vibrating the stoic means of wind.

There is the silence that topples us  

into a standstill. 

Of course, there is you, too.

There is noses tucked into

sleeves. There is the subtle existence

of bobbing in ice water, 

in the bond that forges 

the fight of winter.