~thoughts while walking home…

… through the first snow since moving to the city while attempting to hold firmly onto platonic reins of a crush

Dedicated to the Universe, for allowing a Quillion possibilities.

I
Bundling up, I said goodnight with a question.
She said her scent was ‘Rain’.
Ironic, I thought, as I stepped out into snow.

II
walking across the Walnut Street bridge
the snow was falling up
drafts from the river challenged me to catch flakes

it seems as difficult now as when I was young
to catch a specific snowflake
my mouth is numbed by those I didn’t choose

wet flakes coagulate on my frozen glasses
right in front of my eyes
beauty crystallizes, and no two are alike

in a smear (too close for vision) they melt together
and once they overlap,
like two people, they’ll never be the same

III
this profound event is nice, but blurry-
can’t see a damned thing!
(when and why did I stop using contacts?)

but my feet don’t need my eyes to get home
they follow a mental metronome
one tick per street and count each one you cross

23rd street, 22nd- turn north for a break from the wind
zigzag through the grid
four snowy letters- is that ‘Race’ or ‘Vine’?

THERE’s a sign I recognize, though blurry and doubled:
‘Cherry Street Tavern’
I seem to recall it looking that way in June.

IV
Ah.

Here’s what I wanted to say, instead of goodnight:
“Your mind is very clear.
Your spirit filled, no- flowing, with love.”

Damn! Forgot about construction in Logan Square.
(Why is my memory so bad?
I don’t recall exhaling it away.)

21st street, 20th – assuming it’s not a mirage
and I’m not completely crazy
how do I know, or recognize, your soul

with only short, fragmented, interactions so far?
This- I do not know.
I DO know if I attempt to come up with an answer, (deep breath)

I’ll wind up lost in deep-spinning thoughts about spacetime, quantum physics, multiple dimensions, the constant speed of light and the fundamental underlying wholistic interconnectedness of all things… and I don’t want to go there now. I just want to enjoy, this snow. This. Snow.

V
I consider taking out my camera to shoot
the untouched field of white
before it melts into tomorrow’s parking lot

or shoot the huge snowflake light on the lamppost:
a distant mother-of-all-flakes
veiled in a cloud of its falling crystalline offspring

I even consider pointing my lens straight up
to mimic the effect of my vision
frozen, blurry, foggy glasses in snow

because from the view behind my mind’s eye
it’s a clear, beautiful sight
and then I know: I’ve already captured the experience;

trying to duplicate it visually, for the purpose of sharing,
would not work.
Those who will get it, won’t need to use their eyes.

VI
Rosa’s working the lobby- it’s not her shift.
I shake snow off my coat
and watch as it melts, mid-air, into rain

then a phantom whiff of the scent called Rain,
and all that’s embedded within it,
enters my memory, and leaves through a smile.

-RLM