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As I stand in his arms and look across the parking lot
the deep bitter wind cuts across our bright cheeks
and negotiates terms of release
whether I should stay in his warm embrace
or drive the icy path home.

Stately tree, laced with ice, bore a hundred thousand lights
reflected from nearby snow-laden lampposts
in the small Midwestern town.

Heavenly, they float amongst
branches and twigs,
an unexpected fire,
in the glass-preserved dogwood.
These Will-o’-the-Wisps,
called watchers to snowball fights
and other winter games.

With the excitement, he swooped me into a hug,
spun me, kissed me, and I thought I might just
stay forever.
I tasted brisk air as we pulled away,
streaming into my parted lips,
a river of oxygen and electricity.

Enchanted, he had me for the evening.
However, the ice wields a thread
that would charm me
for a lifetime.

Far longer
than I would feel his
ghost on my lips,
would I dream of those trees
and the glazed branches
alive with the flashes of timeless joy.

Given the chance,
I would wait another lifetime to see those
pixie lights again.

V. Buritsch

A freelancer, fiction writer, podcast listener, fantasy reader who sometimes remembers to write for herself on occasion. She has a BA in English and Management, and currently lives in the Pacific Northwest.

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