Frosted white lake
with patterns of jagged cracks
below deep blue sky
A dizzy mote is the brother of snow.
A hushed echo is the mother of snow.
Many-souled storms press against my bodies.
I swoon and sway in a shudder of snow.
The cold didn’t color my cheeks. She did.
So all summer, I dreamed of her, of snow.
My loves live in two separate seasons,
one made of embers, the other of snow.
How will we make love without heat lightning?
Will we settle for this cover of snow?
In our Pre-Eternity of night rain,
Holly was always a lover of snow.
~ Holly Jensen