there’s that scene in Dr. Zhivago
of Yuri pilgriming through the snowy plains
of Russia
that adheres my mind
it seems when I was a kid
when there was a movie
featured in the gymnasium
of our small town it was either
Gone With The Wind or Dr. Zhivago
and even though I was unable to hold
the geopolitics or romantic entanglements
in my young cupped hands
these images of snow-swept cold
lodged in my body so that
I’ll never see gloves with fingers cut off
without calling them into focus
body shivering
and today as I look out at blinding whiteness
and hear Gorecki’s slow march
it’s me on that long icy trek
making prints in the Manitoba snow
towards my love
