The Return Of Snowbaby

Once.
Snow on my table.
A tight, rolled ten pound note.
Tears.

Now.
Snow against sodium.
Dashboard, window frame.
Morning.

The first bus yawns by.
Shivering overcoats.
Scarves.
Hats.

I sit and stare.
Focus on a lone flake.
That lands on a wire.
I drift back to you.

Are we settled?