(out back counting)

My brain is the strange boy catching snow flakes on his tongue, late at night when he believes there's not an eye in the world worth looking down at him. not his parents. his neighbors. his imaginary friends.

He is alone.

And he imagines the earth is his castle. the wind his breath and the sky just a flash of his mind coming down from heaeven in perfect white.

He is smiling.

Because he knows deep in his heart that years later he will do this holding the hand of a woman he love more than anything he's ever let slip between his fingertips and land in gentle solitude beneath his tiny feet.

And she will kiss him on the cheek and hold her body close to his, warmed by the brilliance of winter and all the wonders that beat inside him.