with a line from “Snow” by Anna Akhmatova
The spruce boughs are empty
of snow as we ski up the old
railroad grade. And when we arrive
at the top, the sky opens up,
an enchantment of blue.
I want to ask her how it felt
to be caged, to be clipped,
to be silenced. But she looks
at me as if to say the mood
is too tender for talk. And so
we let the words disappear
like the snow that is not falling,
and we move together
as good friends do, letting
one lead, and then the other.