You're face down on the ground and I can't tell if you
are sleeping or drunk or dreaming or even if your
heart is beating. So I sit and look at the stars and
remembered that we met in the summer before the slush
froze and the leaves left for the ground and in this
winter moonlight you're still not moving, silent, no
sound, just the mist of my breath as it hits the air
and looks like ghost dancers that have silvery hair.
I prod you with my boot that you laughed looked like a
galosh from when we were four and your mother would
still kiss you on the forehead as she shuffled us out
the door and into the garden after the rain fell and
we hung around as your dad hung that swing under the
oak tree before he was ill and then he died a year
later and we stood holding hands as that man, your
father, was lowered into the ground.
You're still laying there and I'm starting to worry
that it's getting late, we need sleep, we both have
jobs where we think on our feet taking orders and
dishing out dollops of this food and that and somehow
it seemed like we would always be young, happy, and
not strapped to a place where we both hated being, but
that's how life turned out and I know you can hear me
as I'm seeing the past on the dirty night snow and
wondering where, after tonight, we can go.
Come on get up and lets get warm, my feet are cold
and...oh god, oh god....
