Cold Snow

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.