Two girls. Wintertime.
Puffy, navy blue jackets.
Long hair up in ponytails.
The blonde, serious one
smokes a French cigarette.
Frizzy, sorrowful redhead
looks out over the Great Lake.
They talk about God tonight.
Not for or against. No trial now.
Just the warmth in a safe place.
The hope in each friends’ face.
Blonde holds in her animation.
Redhead speaks in odd fables.
Another cigarette. Nervous retention.
Redhead never looks from twilight.
The cold wind whips their ponytails.
The cigarette is a flawed incense.
Blonde, too, looks to the twilight.
Cold bones whistle hymns perfectly.