The Last Snowstorm

A waltz: the snowflakes fall in threes.
Ukrainians on English language bicycles
Fall along mirrored streets.
A chill runs up the spine of streetlights
Watching me watch buildings collapse
Under the weight of clouds and evening.

Say it with me:
The last snowstorm of the year.

Skin stretched over the calcium loom
Pulled taught with goose bumps,
Rumbles of shivers, and five months of fluorescence.
Fire crackles in a brick fireplace, somewhere,
But not here; our brick fireplace
Long ago choked shut by plaster.
With Old Style carpeting on hardwood floors,
And the sound of snowflakes on the pane
As our rhythm section,

Say it with me:
This will be the last snowstorm of the year-
As if we could speak with our hearts anyway,
As if we didn’t know our paths are fixed.