Last night, the forecast told me I’d awake
this morning to the sight of falling snow
outside the window. It came down in sheets
as I lay sleeping, but my tired eyes
see only flakes already fallen, hard
and frozen to the ground, no longer flakes,
just ice. It seems I missed the snow last night.

With one foot out the cheap motel room door
I squint to see the sheets of ice reflect 
the morning sunshine, bright and proud, but I
still shiver slightly in my underwear.
I look over the balcony and see 
some couple sliding through the parking lot,
running in sneakers under business suits,
bags and briefcases flailing in their hands,
clinging to one another, laughing loud
and deep, the ice slipping beneath their feet.

The two survivors hop into their car
and inch their way across the frozen ice.
I step back in and cuddle with the sheets
while in the parking lot the vapor lifts 
itself off of the ground and floats across
the pavement in a light gray mist, soft, cold, 
and free. It seems I missed the snow last night.