Snowblind

If I could show you your first snowfall:

a holly tree shrugging white shoulders,

a cardinal plucking blushing berries;

If I could show you our chickens standing sentinel before their snowy coop

or two fawns lift still and silent heads, heralds of a hungry winter;

If I could show you snowy branches like ivory arrows in a mist-swollen sky

or wreaths and candles cheering frosted windows, shimmering a cascade of light,

you’d gaze with fingers spread like stars against the chilling glass,

your breath a wondrous fog against the snow-stuck night.

Your eyes would cry a question and speak a sorrow,

but I’d laugh and hug you and whisper once:

“Tomorrow, my love. Tomorrow.”

If I could paint the sky for you and summon forth a dimming dusk,

or draw out the black shock of swallows headed south, seeking a lilac dawn;

If I could draw for you your grandfather’s smile

or sketch our tree burgeoning vermilion and gold;

If you could watch the flames dip in protean waves

or see the cat curled in a snowy circle by the hearth,

you’d scoot in delight towards these promised sights

until I scooped you up in an avalanche of kisses.

If somehow I could perform the single act

of trading my eyes for yours,

I’d say “Done!” without blinking

and never look back.

Instead, I’ll sing you carols,

and we’ll dance with jingle bells.

Instead, we’ll bake gingerbread,

and I’ll tell you tales of reindeer.

I’ll trace your fingers slowly over each nativity piece

and teach you of the wise men who followed a single star.

I’ll give you sips of eggnog and bites of fresh clementine,

and we’ll make batches of cocoa mix to gift in mason jars.

Instead, we’ll build a snowman and feel our noses growing cold;

we’ll stoke a smoldering fire and hear the logs pop and crack.

I’ll buy you a Christmas train and watch you chase it round its track;

I’ll laugh as you rip open presents and crunch and tear your giftwrap.

This way, you’ll never need to know how my heart

seems to shatter and melt when you blindly reach for me

with mittened hands and hooded coat; instead

I’ll just sweep you to the sky and sing a winter song

while you nestle close in the arms where you always will belong.