A Certain Kind of Magic
by Janet Kvammen
The touch of her fleeting winter
heart makes mine skip a beat.
The city comfortably tucked
in for the night. Nothing but a ghost,
I sleepwalk, more alive than ever.
Virgin snow, thin as a wedding veil,
adrift on Columbia.
December winds released
from the vault of heaven
accommodate frosted sidewalks
and holiday window glitter.
Prettified trees decked out
in their finest. Golden ladies of the night,
aswirl in cascading confetti,
wear feathery jewels of ice.
This moment will be lost to mourn.
I remain in magic, starstruck
in whitewash mosaic. Blindly I reach
for your hand. The silence broken
by the crunch of snow underfoot.
Quayside bound, our heads bent
in worship at some kind of altar.
Blue-kissed lips starving for faith.