Once, dropped to solid earth
in a late autumnal snowstorm;
desire carried no weight
as the wanting voice pitched
to deaf or muffled ears;
white wheels creaked
along unpaved local paths,
the curious child of time 
beheld a sky in grey hues
and a single swaying rattle.

Later. Snow. Piles of snow. 
Blue skies and a golden eye,
and the muffled sound of comfort. 

Later later. Snowless worlds.
Blackened skies. 
Rattled, without rattles.

Later later still. World-less worlds. 
Invisible skies. 
… without…

Now.  A transient charm tickles
those lost and latent memories,
warnings of snow and ice
warms a frozen heart,
awakes a longing 
– to return.