Poetry / Puddle Jumping

We’re standing in a puddle

Faces tilted upwards

Wet snow isn’t graceful as it plops down

Melting across the sharp ridge of his nose

And sliding down my cheekbones

Slinking past our hoods as we watch the wind

A mesmerizing cyclone of ice coaxed into a spiral

Rising, rising, rising with purpose

We don’t speak 

He’s been trying to be better about listening

Striving to hear what I’m not saying

The silence is enormous 

But I’m filling it with poetry