"The Wanderers" - A Poem

We walked out into the snow.
It came down through the air,
straight down and at times from angles,
hitting our warm faces, wetting our noses.

The road was slippery and steep
so we held onto each other and sort of shimmied down.
Above us streetlamps watched
silently like silent hovering angels, their quiet halos
spreading out into the darkness,

dividing the space into two halves,
separating truth from falsehood,
all that is known and all that is unknown.

At the bottom of the hill we found a little gazebo,
and we sat there, inside the silent womb of night
with our hands in each others’ coat pockets,

waiting for something extraordinary,
waiting for significance.