The snow has a hand in it
as it gently covers all
the russet cheek of fall
With its myriad of hands

Snow opens up a place
among the covering leaves
Rests its palm
along the warmth of earth
sinks its fingers into heaves
and waits a moment

Winter is an expert
at November's need for lenient fondlings  
He remembers
edging for surrender
of a dying spring
His touches linger
as the earth quails at the gate
with shivering cries
she tries
to pull away

Cold desire overwhelms her
Cold insists
His swelling frosted fingers
force into the earth
in every way of water--
freezing crystals can desire
They imagine how to dilate
crevasse
to winter max

She tries not to--  
Heaves up her hills to block his way
He stops her  
with his white-fist wind
his frozen grip  
Depths so patiently insist
Such weight smothers all
With drifting swirling tongue
He fills her once-warm mouth
Settles into empty nest of limbs
and lets the wind drive him
ever deeper

into the need of winter
love

When strangers sit together
they still exist alone.

When they wander in
the wet weather
without their friends
there is silence,

the same silence
that stares sullenly
at a tablet, or phone screen
without reacting
to any human being
in the general area.

There are always a few
who long to
break through
the silence
and speak with
others who have
no business
other then
sitting and waiting.

Spirits waning
from some
strange rejection,
not outright
but at daylight
when strangers
look right
at each other
then turn away
nervously
refusing
to speak.