Returning

it's always here that I end up

that same place where I start

the quiet builds

snow falls on the window sill

the small rectangle

of reflected light

on the ceiling

following with the mind

my own breath

the disturbed

settles again

snowy foot prints

fade under the street lights

scraping metal

pushed across blacktop

from a distance

tracked

as it approaches and drifts away

her shoulder

rises and falls

next to me as she sleeps

telephone & power lines

arc after arc

in a long chain

black under a layer of white

connecting us all

silent in our beds

snow

follows the cold breeze

down from Ontario

it wasn't planned

this silence

is what happens

in between

the plow gone

for now the empty street

stretches up the hill