Once again, they were alone,
Like in the beginning,
Only now it is winter and
The backseat of their car
Rides emptied, a painful
Reminder of an early frost,
Their baby’s last breath still resting
Warm on their icy cheeks.
And now, but for the rattle
Of a loose tailpipe
That always gripes over
The last frozen mile home,
There remains no hint
Of a previous season,
Though the animals
Seem to know, bowing
Their heads each time
The tailpipe announces
Its return