Tainted Snow

She said, "I can never

Feel the same way that

You do about me.

I'm sorry."

I smile and drop my head

Sheepishy, eyes to the snow

Which has become muddy

Beneath my sneakers.

"How foolish," I say.

"Of me, I mean."

"It's not your fault," she says,

Arm draped platonically over my shoulder.

I move away, soiling

The snow irreversibly,

And counting my steps in threes.

"Can we still be friends?"

I turn back, even though

I promised myself I wouldn't.

The snow around her

Is still white and pristine.

Inviting.

Tempting.

Untainted.

The watery snow

Has cleaned my grimy shoes

So well that I almost

Believe there was nothing

there at all.