walking from Hickory Hill 
there was no holding of hands
in that thick Iowa twilight;
the windows between us all shuttered
and lights shut off. the darkness
comes swiftly on a snowy evening.
and to us, as well.
we were empty toothless buildings
to each other, back then. I could barely
see you through the perfect flakes gathering
in collars and cuffs and all things upturned.
This winter business got us off to a rough start.
When the ice stole my balance
or the snow staggered your boots
or sullen hidden rocks barked
our frost-heated shins
we looked down, amazed
at the places our feet took us.
We'd come to the house
(lit all from within and the most
beautiful thing in the world,
promised warmth and light and love)
and raise our eyes briefly, glancing
at each other and the stairs
and stop, waiting,
smelling the snow and hearing
each other breathing and pausing
for a moment that, in any other lifetime,
might have been a kiss.
--10.12.00
There are some things that will never be yours.