Echoes on ice

I have letters from you that you wrote in your sleep
A map of your heart and a plan of your street
And echoes on ice on a blue Winter night
from the spokes of your bike in sub-farenheit
The fox makes a sound like my heart on the backs
where they've laid out the traps
Planes filter back through the night,
making light work of constellations and maps
My opencast heart rewinds back to the start
and plays us again,
should we ever part