I will forget this sensation,

the lightness that carried me

from beneath my feet and offered my innocence

to the altar of excellence and trust.

 

I am walking under the Sun in a snowy sky,

but no warmth can melt my excitement.

It is beside me, walking with me,

printing infinite marks onto the snow

of unclaimed stories written by other men,

women, dogs, and squirrels.

 

I arrived at the coffee shop,

it is uncrowded so I settle into my seat,

to think about snow folk art and

write this poem.

Even my coffee is free today,

a loyalty award.

I take a sip and my heart bobs higher,

as her visionary eyes climbed up my face,

when the streets were colorful against the white night.

 

My good friend advises me I should let the magic take me

where it wishes, and the street paths

lead me into their version of tomorrow.

He may be right, but my solitude has not been wrong.

My good friend is convinced that won’t last too long.

He must be right, because the cadence

 In my voice betrays the sweet dreams

which still live in the spoken night,

and my eyes see stars scurrying in the snow.

 

I am cautious but I know what it is.

It’s the eve of love.

 

January 2026

Bowling Green, Kentucky, USA

 

Cover art by Shashank Kittu on Pexels