Snowhere

Cold, winter,
Middletown, Minnesota, Midwest.
It's evening, the sun's on a short leash.
There's a sharpness in the air,
an almost Roman cleanliness,
Up in the Air and all that jazz.
I know I've written about this before, she's taken
pictures, images—literal photos of something like my childhood.
Nostalgia overload, leading to a false sense of it,
a love there never was,
but was to lose.
She's All-American, all the good things about it,
I can see her through her photos; an experience.
Sparse perceptions of sparsely-mutual experiences,
the richness of her skin hampered by the cold winter...