I open my window
and see you
walking away over
the dirty snow.

your dark silhouette
facing away on the
grey road.
my arm hurts while you
are walking so slow.

No turning back
fear of becoming a
salt sculpture.

I am a ghost.

I open the window
and I can not hear
the street noise,
just silence
blanketing the snow.

And I open the window
but, I cannot see you
walking over that dirty road.