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The Blizzard

There is a blizzard

 between the dark door

and the curtain

 of her sleep


A howling

Vast distance

between us

I stand precipitously

at the threshold

naked to the driven snow


to the sleepless chill

of memories

and premonitions



     to the icy caress 

of forgetfulness

 I venture out

across the night

where the only rest

lies beneath

the white sea

beneath the white waves

that sweep up

the shore

of distant dreams


I cross the sheet

where the drifts

are deceptively high

and I pause

waist deep

in solitude


And everywhere

the swirling flurries

blind me

blanket me

 smother me

call me

further from the light

of certainty


into the embrace

of vacancy

further and further




this white page

where the blizzard

layers days

with no horizon

where snow banks

pile against

the walls

of hope

and silence


 across the bed

and the heart



and  slower

and  slower


In the calm

Crisp morning

she will rise

and go on about her business

She will not notice

my tracks

wind swept

 into the hollows

across her cheek

she will not notice me

beneath the unbroken



Perhaps days later

when I do not call

she will come to visit

 and find

the windows

of my life

frozen open

 and see where the snow

swept into the room.


She will not ask

“How did this happen”

she will only say,

“How careless of Him”

she will try to rekindle the fire

 that warmed her

She will not see the blue flames

that flicker like frost fingers

 on an untouched heart.