winter-sleep

111

Only when we go up north does snowfall
hang like pots and pans in mid-air flurry.
Cold fronts hit our cheeks like sky-high stone walls
made to keep out Mongols in a hurry.
Though the snow piles high, we shouldn't worry.
Igloo tunnels over roads we're mapping
keep the layer cake of ice we're buried
underneath from heating up and snapping.
When I look at you I feel like wrapping
up in years of memories we've gathered.
Quilts of snowfall coat us while we're napping
keeping us from harm and close together.

When, from dormant winter-sleep, we're driven,
Spring and Summer welfare will be given.