He stood there in three feet of snow,
with parts of the clouds falling on his
head.
His gray eyes searching,
for the warm feeling he had felt some
time ago.

And there he stood,
across from me,
as I cried and slowly trodded up my
street,
to find no one else but him.

He stood there in three feet of snow,
with a piece of paper in his hands.
His gray eyes now jumping in the light,
for he had seen that I too was nostalgic

And we stood in front of each other,
for countless days and nights,
taking in the face of the other,
and leaving the past behind.

I had wanted to mourn,
to let it out,
but I was afraid that once I did
it would never stop.

So I shoved aside the photograph,
of him standing in three feet of snow,
with those blank gray eyes,
and let his lost memory
wash over my dry face.