Shawn L. Bird

The snow falls.
I push the shovel on the driveway
at half speed
missing you.

.

I miss listening to the
rhythmic racing
scrapes
across the driveway.

.
I miss you coming in
red from exertion,
frozen drips from your nose
your glasses frosted.
.

I miss kissing your cold lips
and wrapping you
in the warmth

of my thankfulness.