Joy Ride

Oh, and to freeze this:

you with your hair cut day-short,

blowing a cool kiss,

prone on a white toboggan,

doubling your speed, and again;

the surprise gut-punch

of the snowman losing heart

and losing his lunch

all over the white hillside,

snow white upon snow snow-white. 

This is the time of old shoes,

when every step is new

and every mile is two,

and I’d walk twice that for you.