keepsake

the sun is low
and the snow is fading from my feet.

there is salt on the road
it burns the edges of lawns yellow.

some plowmen had tried to fight
Father Winter's fingers back.

the cold outside is the kind that
doesnt need wind. it exists only to annoy

you while your dog stops to pee in a neighbor's yard
and you have to stand still or

when you are fumbling with numb fingers for the
right key when you are already late for work.

but, i'm inside with a book. its heavier than
it should be. it isnt good. but it's

something to hold.