Frozen In

And now, from the bite in the air, the prospect of snow looms, and thrills.


Frozen In - Annie Finch

Ours are the only mouths
to taste with this smothering slow

touch, and the only steps

to sink like bellsounds and cave

deep into the marble snow.

Women who go to the window

to push their arms out to the snow

and then bring the shutters back in

follow us as we fall

past their eyes where the black night lives.

We are snowflakes at last, as the thick

never locked, never closed doors

follow us through squares of light

their windows have left on the snow.

Once again, warmth that falls,

again, though our tracks fill and slow.