Blue streets are lost.
Snow like an avalanche of velvet birds,
Spins morning through a fragile, parchment song.
Which one of us dares hold it to the light?

Such lonesome hands
That shaped a shadow home from winter smoke.
Poems burn low behind the window glass.
Frost paints a flower for emptiness to hold.

Will you find me
Some day when streets bring back the dusk again?
You need not wait for January, Friend.
Snow is a mood. This winter is for you.

Previously published in my book, 'Ever Sunset' Skylark Publications, India
Copyright, Sandra Fowler

Sandra Fowler

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-shadow-home/