The Sound of Snow

Sometimes I think I hear you

in the moments just before dawn

whispering my name in the moon,

in the stars.

I’ll keep my eyes closed, balance

my breath on my tongue,

expand into the inky-black silence

and listen.

If I could only stop time

maybe then I would know.

I’d breathe your name back in a whisper,

in an answer.

But no matter how I try

you remain just out of reach—

like the shadow of lips brushing my ear,

like the sound of snow