SnowGirl

Water dances,
six-sided petals spiralling
silent waltzers in the air.

My visitors depart,
shuffling through the gate,
silhouettes vanishing into the swirl,
footprints blurring into white shadow.

Standing in my cabin doorway
gazing at the snow girl,
rolled and raised in the bright morning,
when I kissed her
and my eyes dripping salt drops
prickled her snowy skin,
sinking dimples into her shoulder.
She looks at me with hazelnut eyes,
framed with hair of snow layered hay.

The sky thickens,
softening the silence,
and blotting the distant village twinkle.

I trim a lamp with oil for the night,
hooking it to the doorpost,
and a tangerine tint warms the snow girl’s skin.

Sat in a rocking chair by the stove,
the slow roll of wood caressing wood
lulls.

A little sleep, and my eyelids flutter—
opening on the snow girl.

Drawing her cold to my warmth
in a gentle hold,
we twirl, slow through the night
in a snow dance.