Ice crystals rip through clouds
reshaping into droplets
on their descent. On a hood
they glaze, stack, crawl
toward the face hidden
from their reach.
Clutching the nylon they rattle
as one step, two steps, the body
drops to the ground, hands dig into the cold
slush, loosely forming what should be a ball.
The body rises, a hand pushing
small droplets out of eyes.
The drops hanging onto the hood
back away to watch the toss
of the arm, and the bundle of ice that arcs
through the air, landing against the window
where the lace curtains are captured.
The body steps backwards, fingers tap
the jean material attached to legs.
Larger molecules of moisture take the chance
that the small ones failed at.
They throw their weight over
the brim, landing on the nose in delight.
The hand rises to sweep them away,
but stops, the curtain is spread apart
revealing the face of the body’s match.
A smile, the droplets long to be in between
the lips, curled against teeth that aren’t meant
for them. They begin their descent,
one last toss of their weight
but they rattle as one,
two, three, four steps.
Bonds cling to bonds but it’s not enough.
They tumble to the pavement
as the door opens where the match
stands in the light casting shadows
onto the sidewalk, onto him.
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