It is your leaving that I love & First Snow, two poems by Marjorie Maddox

      It is your leaving that I love

      Naked in the naked way day wakes
      to morning, stretched up, muscling
      from heel to head-shine the backs of everything:
      hand grasp of calves and balls and rear;
      flesh loose, tight, turning
      not into face or front never!
      but toward the backdrop of your back,
      those hallway lights highlighting each exit
      as "now," "before," or "will be"
      without worry or forethought.
      (We leave to separate, separate to return). Oh
      the beauty of a back moving
      away, the predictable
      rhythm of limbs that leave
      to come again.

      First Snow

      So provisional, it almost doesn’t
      count—uncouragous, afraid
      of everything concrete, the frozen closes in
      on asphalt, then vanishes
      into nostalgia.

      In the streetlight, the sky is all dust,
      pale and full of flutter;
      on the ground, damp pockets of no longer.

      Tentative as first snow reluctant to land,
      we move again toward the other,
      remember the chill,
      the pleasure of complete cover.

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Annie Christain