I hear the hush of the deafening snow
and it hits me hard like Thor's hammer.
Not between my eyes but crushing my chest
making it hard to breath
because my heart aches so.

For the frozen, dead brown thrush,
all lights off except the wide white blank.
For the sheared, dear sheep
shivering in the unexpected snap of cold.
Summer's pastures forgot, leaving no track.

How sweet morning light
arrived so suddenly at night.
Soft as the footfalls of a cat.
Stealthy and stalking
like a moon milking candle
looking for a lost slipper on the floor.

I've considered different ways to die
but not by cold.
Taking off my clothes to lie down
on an imaginary bed of roses.
Roses from the south
waltzing with warm gulf winds;
Only to hit my grave marker
while digging in the spring
under a noonday sun
and astride singing birds and frolicking lambs.

Strange, how cold can burn.
Your love letters lump like coal.
The cremation of love feels almost like relief.
Black ashes like snowflakes
melting into deep ocean
and frothy white waves.
Only next time throw a stone
in place of a kiss
and do not murder me softly.





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