Wind-caressed and snowswept;

spoken in wonder, your name awakens hunger

in the caverns of my chest.

I am wandering, stuck-bent homebound,

gently aching south now,

feeling tug of memories anchored in warmer days.

With my fiddle-neck rent, and heartstrings bent in wreck,

desires within my skin burn, and

I am yearning for repair.

Your face my fiery center seeks

as I shuffle snow with slow, plodding feet;

I keep my head turned sideways:

Every lawn white with sun-dappled space,

every door like a portal of grace,

draws me a rough sketch of your upcoming abode.

Upon sight I'll know your home,

so I'm bracing for the unveiling of this unknown:

If my hopes — warm, steady, unseen like covered bones —

will be met when spoken;

or if the real luster I perceive,

a glowing edge that gives me to dream,

is only a dead trick — empty and cold —

a mere taunt of fool's gold.