Outside

Outside

the window snow is falling in shapes

a child's hand,

spades,

diamonds,

tears,

hair and

branches against white canvas that spell

something in the moonlight but

I can't read the message.

A brown bird walks across the porch and

pecks, shuffles his feathers in the cold,

bounces on his twig-toes.

Flakes fall bright against dead trees,

hanging in their fingers—

ice and,

dark.

My breathing close to the slick glass and

no other sound.

But I thought I heard your name.

Between us,

dark, glass, miles.

The Web Projects of Sondra Ball and Mario Cavallini