Two Winters

Dark night.  I dreamed of a competitor in the Winter Olympics who won the event called ‘running through constant drizzle’ then gave up the sport, changed her name to ‘moral wife’ and vowed to become a poet. I woke up guilty, as though I’d kissed my best friend’s man.  Your photo on the dresser, your planes in the sky, your clothes in the dryer on this rare, rainy Californian day.  Snow like a penchant for loss, falls white over distant hills. Blankets of future images just out of grasp.  You’re the one who knows what I’m wanting before I move my hand.  They say it’s still cold in Melbourne and I’ll be there next time storms become the official season. I’ll be there drinking and thinking of what I can never tell you, light just past caring or ownership.  Two winters on opposite sides of the globe: two winters to discover how this love got so far from home.  I’m sentimental and mostly I don’t care metaphysically speaking: I trust in a gentle world, I trust in you.