Over the snow

Warm light after a winter wideness.
I keep walking down the street, plowing softly, 
each lit window a church bell melody. 

An unmade god lives under the new snow.  
Our city was built on a chess board, 
built with numb fingers, pink and alive.

I push through the illuminated darkness,
knees shaking, footprints freshly obscured, 
hands in my pockets, hair windblown and frozen.