The grey sludge on the sides of the roads
Has really been there
Since the heat of July
But only recently did my focus shift
From the glistening white
Of our summer snow

Maybe I just need another
Attitude adjustment-
Let's go have a snowball fight;
The seasons don't seem to be changing
Any time soon

Ever since, I've been afraid of the telephone ringing:
That metallic chime intruding at any second
Drawing us from our ornaments to "have you seen her?"

"Have you seen her?"

Maybe if they hadn't told me to get the phone that day
It wouldn't be quite so bad still
But every time I see that tree in our living room
Standing for family, love, hope
Everything that was smashed that day
All around me and entirely within me
Replaces again all that's been slowly healed

That red little ball falling
From shaky hands and weak branches
Shatters on the floor with a sound like a telephone
And those red little pieces linger just to be stepped on
Just to draw blood
And there is
Still
Blood

Two dead and however many phone calls
Shattering ornaments at every little decorating party
Where someone is stupid enough to say "I'll get it"
And everyone else is stupid enough to care,
Like humans do,
About all the things they can't control.
Like the snow falling, I mean,
There's no need to scream at the sky-
Your god can't hear you.
Just go back to the Christmas tree
And pick up where you left off.

There's probably 800 dead in Syria today anyway
And I can't seem to make myself give a **** about that, so
Why should I even really care all that deeply if
There's one less ornament on my tree?

I step naked into the scalding shower
And almost instantly the dreams,
Which haunted my sleep the previous night,
Rise up with the steam,
Leaving behind a half-sadness
Reminiscent of the first frost, quick to melt,
Glistening and sparkling beyond the window-pane

Like frost turned to dampness of Earth
Are the footprints left on the bathroom floor
And the beads of water trapped in ***** hair
Begging as dreams do, to be remembered
Even as, inevitably,
They fade

The preacher turns to a clear blue sky
And begs for an end to the snow

We're all just scar-tissue of scar-tissue
By the end

My dog’s eyes are wide;
He’s more alarmed than I’ve seen him in months
Although to be fair
I haven’t really seen him in months.

He looks at me
Like I might be able to make the wind stop
But I’ve been too busy lately
Blowing through with that wind
To even pause and scratch his ears
Let alone change the weather

I listen to the November rainstorm
Blowing through with the violent intensity
Of a first kiss
Or a last ****
And though I know I can’t change the weather for him
I still take a brief pause during the storm
To scratch his ears
And calm him down

A hammer smashing through
A bright blue wall
Showing reality’s ultimate grey:
A journey more like hell
Than anything I’d known before

Sitting on top of that dam
Which flowed like the river did
I tried to talk to you
But the words got lost
And somewhere in that mess
Of dilated pupils
And impossible patterns
Of light and sound
I remembered what is was like
To be in love.

After my high subsided
And I changed my clothes
I sat lazily at your counter
Doodling and thinking back
To the few words we'd managed
To push through
The nightmarish vacuum
Of pink and green swirling trees
Which haunted our stone blockade

You asked if I was okay
And I told you “yes”
With half
Of my too-quickly beating heart

Maybe you put your hand on my shoulder
Or maybe you didn’t-
I can't really remember-
But you said
“It’s okay to say you’re not”
And definitively I assured you

“I’m not”

Some of these books
I wouldn't remember reading
If they weren't on my bookshelf

They say you're not supposed
To wake up
A sleepwalker
But more often than not
I want to remember in the morning
The moments I fell in love with
The night before

I want to really remember
All the books on my bookshelf
And some of them
I haven't even read yet

Wake me up.

Inside we drink tea and eat steaming waffles
While outside a white blanket drapes itself
Even over our minds
Painting things in a sweeping grey
That glistens in the sunlight

It’s a little too cold out
So our noses are a bit runny
And the heat’s on a little too high
But the maple syrup never goes bad
And neither does your laugh

Your thumb moves across my the back of my hand
Like it did in the summer
Gently; without much pressure
And in between my fingers I can feel your heart beat

If you wanna go outside though
I have a really nice hat
And some really nice gloves
And if you wanna go sledding
I have a toboggan too
So we can go down the hill
Together