"Bundle up, it’s not far now."

As if coats could confront the hill that day

a sandwich we made of our ourselves then

heat the delight that we captured between us

but the freeze hoped to eat it away at any moment

the green grassy approach of Ned pulling the sleigh

and his puffs of breath almost met our own as they passed

him and old lady Griffiths who pretended we didn’t exist

I was new in town and not one of them unlike you-

you were born and raised here and breathed that same air

"You’ll like the church."

I knew these things-

that you were right, always

(I love churches, but we will call it your wisdom)

and that my hand holding yours was a magical thing

and I followed you to forever in the tracks of the snow

said farewell to the place that I once knew so well

where I lived behind walls of concrete and old brick

to a town where the houses were in colors you’d taste

and we slept undisturbed in bundled covers of white

scarlet letters I’d wear if it meant a moment with you

tying knots in the thread holding together our dreams

eating small pieces of meals from the day before last

treading ice up the stairs to a warm bed that we’d share

when winter came crashing with the cold northern air