Cold.

Waiting for inhalation.
I take the air.
Ice.

I see the puff—
My warmth escaping.
Displaced by
Cold.

Discomfort?
Liberation?
Indecision.
Relief.

Each breath pierces minutes.
Silence.

Gone are concerns,
Disenchantment.
Arrived are hairs,
Standing as icicles.

I blow the puffs—
Seeing how far steam can travel.

Gone is loss’s misfortune.
Arrived: clarification.
I shiver, opening to solitude.

Cold slows the quickest minds.
Toes protest.

Gone is suffocation.
Arrived: exhaustion’s end.

Cold burns with wind.
Blue tipped fingers.

Gone: dexterity.
Arrived.
Sleep.
Alone.

Snow descends.