Sometimes when I lay awake on a hot summer night
listening to the chorus of crickets outside my bedroom window
in the hazy gauze of the southern town I landed in somehow
like an arrow in the garden or a bow upon a gift, hidden, waiting
I remember
When the snow came down so hard and fast that
the streetlights broke and the cars stopped moving and
the quiet took the block, like the breath of God over everything, and
we ventured out together, throwing snowballs at the wall,
making angels in the courtyard beneath our tiny balcony
taking pictures of the day, shot in black and white, because
we were young and free and in love, with no idea what would come,
though the negatives are gone and the pictures are long lost, still
I wonder
