Outside, just another frigid blizzard.
And so, as all our cold trekked roads run adrift,
our feet have come to this.
Frost meets our heat at the glass with mist.
Good to know the nightly fire inside
as we loosen our tongues
and melt.
Published in Sheepshead Review, Spring,2015
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem