I dreamt you came to me
through the open window,
asking me for your name.
I would tear out my own
and sew it to your heart
if it could guide you home.
What map can chart the way
backwards through lost years,
our footprints masked by snow?
They cut us into stars
and forged us into steel,
but hope endures all things.
I leave the window open
and stand to face the cold.
I am waiting for spring.
