The frost on the glass is too cold
for me not to touch. Like
the poem I haven't recited enough
I try to see beyond the glaze
so I can tell what's going on and off
and up and down
on the other side.
But only objectively.
I see what isn't very familiar to me
and I want to bury myself in it.
Saturate myself in its cold warmth,
only until maybe
something else comes and takes me away.
Like the jealous lover you can't escape.
Then I use the sleeve of my sweater
to wipe the frost away,
the cold kissing my hand or
my hand kissing the cold.
I smile and reach out with my eyes
to the prize on the other side.
I can almost
almost feel it embracing my body,
taking my breath away and forcing me out.
I come back in to my body,
snapped back from a dream.
I open my eyes and see
my breath lingering in the air,
my shriveled fingers
a discarded memory gone public.
My breath has betrayed me,
the glaze of frost
renewed.