Couple in Winter
by Joan E. Cashin
Night: original snowfall, the thick curtain
Falling between us.
We pace home, two lone scouts brooding,
Two vapor trails disappearing in the dark.
We step out into a crater of street-light,
Faint orange hues with the light humming,
Reverberating, flickering, he says, as if from a magic wick underground.
Morning: fresh drifts, vulnerability.
First step at the front door, plunging
Through more snow
Before we hit the brick walk.
We venture out to find paths in the white terrace,
Egos pared back, spirits expanding.
* * * * *
Joan E. Cashin writes from the Midwest, and she has published in many journals, most recently in MONO, VITA BREVIS, MONTHS TO YEARS, and LITERARY YARD.