a new poem

LOVE IS THIS
I scald my lips and tongue
On steeping tea. The white
In the window frame blurs
Sky to ground. Everything
Hides behind gray between.

Forgive me, I went again
To the mailbox for encouragment.
Naturally, I found nothing.
What was I expecting? A line.
I desire a line across

This blank page. I'll loop
That line and dot it and wait.
I'll ignore the mailbox next time
(I'd like to promise). You say
Salt must be sprinkled

Here I am: a block inside
A crusted window. I watch
The snow descend and hope
To find, among the fractals,
A silver arrow pointed "next."

Sometimes there are no lines
And if we step our steps make circles.
In blank weather, drowsy tea,
Sinking couch, and silence: keep watch:
A streak of color from the clouds.