A girl has flipped off
her shoes at the porch
and asks why this place
is on its own on a hill
with its finial stuck
in the sky.
Whose shoes
have paired off with hers
anyway?
I sit beside her
a commonality
of kinship between us
staring outwardly
at the frost, the frozen
conversations, the footsteps
that have come in.
This place has a stillness
which stiffens our bones.
Like white icing
the rain shines on you
a see-through luminosity
as you blink into the street.
The resort is full.
You're thinking this
has to be the closest
thing to living invisibly
where people are
constantly passing
through one another
regardless of the weather
or the failing light
of a late afternoon.
You know if you keep
walking someone will soon
stop and 'for a laugh'
want to fit
inside you.