Footsteps

Footsteps

I woke to a room too still reached
out and touched the cold pool of your absence
ran to the window its sill calloused by snow

and looked out on a white-blind world
saw you hunching down the path
threw open the window and heard

the trochaic thud and crunch of your steps
in snow and fear ripped the scream from my throat
flung the shivering slivers to the silent

sky and I laced my fingers over my face
and when I looked again your footsteps
had been shrouded by falling snow.
And the path was waxed white.