There is something to be said
of the way that snow prepares Spring.
And something too, then, to be said of
the cold words that drop like arrows
from your tongue and collect like stalagmites
along the pathways of our lives, and reflect
each flickering light that finds it's way inside.
Under starry skies, where we could see
our breath if it weren't for the darkness,
we chase lights to capture them, and
feel ourselves grow cold together.
I feel dizzy with all this looking up,
and feel more alone than ever.