into the night

the clock
limps towards twelve.
we've been up all night, at it
again.
knee deep
in talk.
sunken into the long couch,
the silvered trees
in snow.
the moon lit stream
alive, and cold.
we could go on all night with
this conversation.
it's a winding
slip of water. it's what
we do best
going forward.
talking it out,
then arriving.