Herb Wahlsteen

Under their footsteps
ice-glazed snow crunches like glass.
The moon and stars seem pearls
studded on a marble sky.
The naked oak tree rows on
either roadside stand stiffly
like pillars. Their upper limbs are
twisted together like iron mesh.
The black and white earth around and
the black and white expanse above are
barren. Each frozen thing is stone
silent. The only color noise
motion and warmth emanate from
the young man and woman walking
across her lawn. Her house windows
are dark. Though her parents are
home the house seems cold empty.
He kisses her as warmly as he
can then turns to walk away.
After he blends with the marble
horizon she steps into two of
his large footprints and
somehow feels warm again.


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