Shovelling snow next door
mimics an alarm,
demanding abrupt attention
Minus seventeen—
crispy cold air comes
through the screen,
rattling mobiles
Immediate goosebumps
flag systems to protect
whereas
they recall a call
In the Atlantic scent,
a child I once lost
stands up, tiptoeing
looking for a sign,
a flash of direction
sensing spring
A voice echoes—
You’ve been here too long
Turn west
towards darkness
It is windy:
left hand reaching out to close
right arm stops
staring
at the reflection
of her waves