a poem for going and being gone

snow did not come in this early month.
fog masked the morning.
it was cold
and I saw my breath
in this small town.
it was the first year outside of
my youth.
tears froze on my cheek.

you left in a flurry
of corporate phraseology
and complacency.
my mind followed you-
trailed you,
I was the bloodhound.
you were beaten
and smiling.

we broke promises
and that is alright.
where the winter does not come
you will go.
I will meet you there.