i know i am
leaving
the
snow.
i am leaving 50
fingers, 50
toes,
5
smiles.
i am leaving
what comes out of
small
mouths.
the way their heads
turn
when i walk
in.
the way their eyes
are.
their hands,
their
hands.
the things i will suddenly
remember in the
night,
when i can't
sleep or the snow falls
up north,
alone, without me there
to
catch
it.
the kind of things i would
write to them
in the
snow.
if i
could.
