42nd St in the snow

in the empty lot,
over grown with brush
and discarded stuff,
i am waiting on the snow
to come cover up
the chalk line, drawn
in the shape of my heart,
wrapping it in a crystalline
blanket (shiver, shiver
it's warm in here)
but soon enough
i will wave my arms
making angels
to trade for people's
smiles, as they stroll by
on the sidewalk, forgetting
it was a crime scene.

a Magpie Tale