In Your Eyes Supine

Climbing the snowy paths from the bottom of the Common
up to Cheers

my knit cap’s frosty breath
makes snowman circles in the air

the trees sing a blue stone
a taxi driver believes deeply

the beauty of a stark building
lies in your eyes supine

cold asphalt warms cold asphalt
the fingers of my gloves belong to you

your smile level with my chest
the winter clouds have done this before