Winter Moon

White against white
I could make you out
skimming the crystalline pines
but never touching the ground.
In the distance your beauty is aloof;
in your starkness the air is cold.
Amidst the swirling snowflakes
that sweep this dappled desolation,
I stand holding a heart with thorns.

(To the vision who haunts me–that brief glimpse of a face that would not let go.)