for Debra
Playing on this winter white paper
with a new poem going nowhere,
I look up from my desk
and find you in the doorway
staring at me with a smile.
My study is too small
to hold this study of you,
too cold to capture your warmth
on this quiet day of December
when the white sky falls
gently down around us,
sings its whispering song,
lifts me up out of my chair
and fills my eyes, my arms
with you, the perfect poem.
©2009 Charles Ghigna
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