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"Locked inside for days of snow, I see your brochure on our table for a place so warm, like in my dreams. Your bags are packed up tight. You say you'll leave tonight, if you can break the ice that keeps our windows frozen shut.

You say, 'Please, meet me there.'

I awake to smells of coffee. I guess you must have set our timer
and a note that says you'll see me soon. But, with all this frost, I can't see if I've lost the chance to run outside and try to finally change your mind.

You say, 'Please, meet me there.'

The ice inside my lungs, like paying for something wrong, until I find your warmth and our hands are frozen cold.

You say, 'Please, meet me there.'"



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Tom Campbell Burlington, Vermont

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