Main Street, Kimball, 2 a.m.

We return to my hometown
crisp and plain and vacant
but for rising and falling
crystalline snow. Light hangs
passive from streetside posts. The day
is as cold as it gets, but we can’t wait for dawn.
There’s only this now, and the sun will steal it away.

Under layers of clothing we arrive
At two in the morning this town is for the taking;
we take from the heart. My brother
at the wheel, I in the narrow
protection of a thin black sled.
A steel cast of air presses
neatly against my skin,
weary eyes glance for traffic,
and we pull onto the street.

With speed comes wind,
air sharpens
till I can feel blood

to leave me.
Eyes press

Pull of rope
in my hand
and sound of
crushing snow
beneath me,
and only
when we finally stop does the cold set back in.