It doesn't snow in San Francisco,
no more petals of ice drifting down
or dancing around, pretending to be
that ballet dancer you never were
but hot chocolate won't exist anymore
in those apartment complexes
with the vacancy signs, next door
but these aren't my second thoughts
and this isn't my goodbye, not yet
as I am looking outside, at the snow-
covered "I Love My Soldier"
painted on their windshield in yellow,
then I look at these photographs
from union square and everywhere,
filled with old men playing chess
but there will never be any snow
for my next year in San Francisco.