I remember a bright, bright winter day, blinding sun,
and a sky mirroring in clouds the banks of white.
As we walked the Battlefield, the snow groaned.
Exhausted as though plodding through dunes,
I stopped suddenly and dropped
to lie on my back and watch the movement above.
You, without a long coat, refused to join my reverie,
not wanting to get colder, wet. I pulled you down,
your back on top of me, your hair at my neck, your breath
soon in synch with mine, sharing pockets as I held you.
The weight of you, the warmth, such a contrast,
pushing me deeper into the ice at my back.
If ever I am raised up, let it be the lifting
as when you finally rose and turned to me,
snowblind, the indentation we left, one body.
