Our Sonnet

We four stand in the cold afternoon, still
as the world, save for the light shower
of dust and our dark silver breaths that fill
the air. Cupped hands resemble the flowers
of a tree. The ground’s hard under its quilt.
And we stand, shivering but together.
In these mute woods we hear no outside lilt.
Only winds sweep: the call of cold weather.
The pristine snow untracked, what we have found
is secret; no one else has come to learn
the quiet that has embraced our group: bound
in this moment, not one of us can turn.
And so we wait, content for now to let
an ice blue sky shine and bless our quartet.