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We have luxurious conversation,
filled with gaps of fresh air
and pondering.
The kind of random snippets
which fit together snugly,
strung over rivers
of shared time.
Your laughter 
winds through kindred
space,
a silver thread linking
me to you.
This is a story to be
continued,
Forever rooted
in where we came 
from,
forever tendriled
to branches reaching
for the sky.

Layers provide

refuge,

buttoned, zippered,

wrapped.

Months of silence have

settled in,

long nights of

sharp, crystalline snow,

piled thick and heavy.

But I am old,

and you are older.

Time has substance

unlike before.

Crystals lose their edges,

Rounding into droplets,

eased by the warmth of

spring.

Conversation surges and ebbs,

no longer tracing the shoreline,

but lingering in deep water.

It has become a daily occurance,

Sometimes big, intricate flakes,

Infinitely personal,

Other times small, needled,

Wind-driven crystals,

Targeting those who venture

Out thinly prepared.

It seems easy to spiral with

Those feeble and complaining

Souls,

Sinking into drifts of ever deeper winter.

I watch the birds,

Flitting from tree to feeder,

Basking in the mid-winter sun,

Practicing for the exhuberance of

Spring,

Invincible.

Your stealth is admirable,

A sneaky move under the snow,

Behind the scenes.

A long, narrow tunnel shelters

Your changing position,

Your smiling face masking

Selfish intention.

Soon you will come up for

Sun and fresh air,

A large and marked target,

And what you have planned

From the start will no longer

Benefit from hasty and

Selfish camouflage.

I watched you in my dream,

One step removed,

Floating through pieces

Of history all jumbled

And mismatched.

Solutions presented and

Discarded spun deadly

Webs of memories.

Moving through my

Waking moments are

The tendrils and

Wonderings,

Cobwebs of life

As I knew it,

And as I never will.

Wind devils dance across

Waves of snow,

Sculpted by frigid winds,

A gift from the north.

I wonder where you hide

During the moonlit

Darkness.

A brief foray into nosediving

Temperatures takes my breath away.

I watch fervently for a glimpse

Of the life that pulses so

Strongly in the wild,

Wondering.

I miss the woods,
the deep anonymous solitude
bathed in frigid moonlight.
Age withers good intentions
and scatters them among
the infinite crystals 
of ice and snow
as life as you know it
trudges forward in circles,
never gaining enough lift
in the cold and heavy
air to spiral into 
something
new.

My life is measured in dog years,

marked by memories and smells,

small piles of hair

filling the corners of rooms,

filtering through the sunlight air.

I gather together the rich feel

and smell of warm summers

of fur mired with drying pond,

the exuberance of flying across

the field to dive into the blissful

wetness of mud and weeds.

Though individual in essence,

you blend into the blessing

I call dog,

and keep me warm in the

spaces between you.

It settles in,

Sinking into drifted valleys of snow,

Deepening with the approach of the

Rising sun.

The stillness is imposing,

The face of the sky shuttered,

Waiting.

This is a season of hiding,

A prelude to cacophony and

Rebirth.

Impatience has no momentum,

Lost with falling leaves

And buried in snow.