We went sledging - boys do,
raking powder snow
turning, laughing, lugging back up
speckled white with neck drips, back drips.
Andrew hot enough to go first;
split-second tipping on an edge
then singing, giggling down the slope
to stop and to hold a statuesque pose
but now I have to send boys back:
no more sport but a hard kick
into my soul ‘til next time we meet;
a decision I made years ago
to end these moments - separate hearts -
my core melts down; I am a man of snow.