you sit yourself down, so slowly.
put your hands in your pockets, mittens intact.
put your head up and asked, “ready?”
the cold winds will keep us close.
my hands shake, gripping your hands.
my teeth chatter, to your teeth chattering.
the moon shines on the snow.
we move forward, for shelter.
we move forward, for slumber.
icicles stick to chain link fences.
for a moment – all goes silent.
but the wind pushes us home.