New Snow

The morning is pale,
full of January
and thin light, like
linen on a line
to dry, that won't.
These sheets too,
where you lie
asleep, they shine
like new snow upon
the unplowed roads
of a new year,
where we as one
are yet to go,
and most likely won't.
But it's fine for now.
We can stay inside
for this moment,
linger in the silence
of what love was,
and call it forever.