There Were Signs

a poem

A midnight flurry dusts the street
That cuts coal-black through moonlit blocks.
Between white lines, the snowfall melts
Where hobbled sun had kissed with warmth,
And makes the asphalt darker still.
But where day's shadows lay untouched,
The flakes find purchase, piling thick.
Like powder brushed on fingerprints,
They show her car was parked--alone,
For hours--before she drove away.