Some Lines on Snow and Love

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Snow falls to cover the tracks,
hides everywhere I've been.
No one will know; perhaps not care.
First the mouse tracks, then the squirrel.
Fox prints disappear, then coyote.
Deer are last, the wolf does not move.
There are no bear tracks—they're all sleeping.
Through this whiteness
I long for you. So many miles
between us. Something is right
and something is not right
about this distance;
either way, it leaves me groping
in the dark, reaching for you.
Each time my arms come up empty.
Is this how love works?
I'm not sure. My declarations
do not matter. Only this feeling
inside, this longing, this missing—
these are the universal experiences
we all know. And in my mind's eye,
your beautiful face comes
through the snow, the gift of an angel,
and my heart pours out the window.
The snow keeps adding to the whiteness.
There are no tracks anywhere—
only those many empty miles.
I trudge silently toward
where I saw that angel,
the gift of your face again.
I can't wait for the snow to stop,
the car to run, and for me
to fly back to you.
Anthony Signorelli