This is where you asked for the rest of my life,
wind mumbling through pines, minting our cheeks,
designing flakes into small drifts.
We walked the lake, ignored warnings
of ice too thin, passion birthing its color,
flushing our skin a sudden pink.
Then back again on anniversaries, each year
bundled in more protective clothing
safe from each other and the wind,
fewer words spoken, the groaning of ice
seemingly louder, every stroll closer to the shore.
Police lights splash a dizzy blue against
the pillows of snow on the hills.
The bodies of two young lovers are sheeted,
loaves of bread, slid into an ambulance.
I imagine the lovers tangled, lips locked
in a hunger so heavy they didn’t hear the fist
of ice songs hitting the surface, ripping the night air.
No time for the mold of goodbye to grow on the tongue.
No hide and seek of emotion that you and I have
known for years.
Just a black plunge, a panicked thought,
the freeze always preserving
the passion calling its color.