Snowfall

Last I saw H he was hooked to machines.

Only from a distance then.

He wouldn’t have recognized anyone

or his spouse, lying as he lay.

But let’s think of sitting in tree shade

on a knoll. Or a winter night

standing near a big white house

on a corner, a snowflake on M’s eyelash,

her hazel eyes’ dark lashes,

the snow falling fast covering streets

and roofs. Everywhere quiet.

As we parted, “See you tomorrow,”

I don’t remember.

Like the snowfall, it was in the air.