Winter Dance


Winter Dance


Love belongs to the garden of the young.  

(Les Misérables)


Such exception you took to that line

you, lover with thinning grays

and eyes of liquid green

that melt into mine

without shame

to make my insides dance.


Like those early morning jigs:

the two of us twirling

on cold kitchen tiles

to an unexpected memory on the radio

while outside the winter wind

swirls with us

throws back its whipping mane

to howl its laughter at our fun

– and the young

still buried under covers.