"pressing our hands to the ice"

[aquamarcia.livejournal.com]

December

Who would miss the year at this hour?
Like headlights circling suburbia.
And since there aren't directions
to the afterlife, we must put on
our coats and smile. We must be
children pressing our hands
to the ice, without apology
for our awe—the same kind
we keep trying to find
in churches and cheap hotels.
The kind we can't buy
in malls or airport bars.
I have said so many things I don't mean
it would take lives I've yet to imagine,
stepping onto another train,
a lost pair of kites hurrying,
many drinks, less expectations—
surely you know the feeling
of having to walk through the cold
without music or stars.

by Alex Dimitrov