My snow prints reach a woodland home
fenced in by clouds and icicle limbs,
a house of brick and window light,
an insulated bubble in the darkness.
Surely, warmth glows inside every room.
What light leaks out is charity
to snowdrift strangers like me.
Would my knock on the door put the lights out,
set off the dog alarm? Would I hear
feet and voices tangled in a rush to quiet?
To drafts and drifters
mothed by window light,
most warm homes turn cold backs.
Robert S. King lives in Athens, GA, where he serves on the board of FutureCycle Press. His poems have appeared in hundreds of magazines, including Atlanta Review, California Quarterly, Chariton Review, Hollins Critic, Kenyon Review, Main Street Rag, Midwest Quarterly, Negative Capability, Southern Poetry Review, and Spoon River Poetry Review. He has published eight poetry collections, most recently Diary of the Last Person on Earth (Sybaritic Press 2014), Developing a Photograph of God (Glass Lyre Press, 2014), and Messages from Multiverses (Duck Lake Books, 2020) His personal website is www.robertsking.info.