I.
White flakes touch the street—
Their millions melt, dying
The way they were born.

II.
She blinked, shaking the
Snowflakes from her eyelashes,
And blushed like summer.

III.
A two-step blizzard
Waltzes in the windy air—
Winter masquerades.

IV.
In the darkness, steps
Crunch and echo in the snow,
Miles away from me.

V.
The buildings weather
The snow, but everything else
Crumbles under white.

VI.
After the snow, trees
Like middle-aged heads of hair
Became old and grey.

VII.
The hot chocolate
Stains my teeth, which once were
White like today’s snow.

Throw your gold-plaited, gold-painted
copper saints into the sea—
more salt than water, the Dead Sea.
What is it, this Dead Sea? Why,
it's that place that unfaithful lovers go
in body bags.
Full of concrete blocks, that Dead Sea.
Who am I, to talk so free? Well,
I'm dead, you see.
My bones are in a bag at the bottom,
at the bed of the Dead Sea.

h.f.m.

if a wish were a hood it could keep off the rain
it could hide my face, hide my shame

if a wish were a ring it could bind my heart
it could bind my soul, a vital part

if a wish were glue it could keep me together
i could feel more grounded, or light as a feather

if a wish were more than a thought...
but no, it is all for naught

h.f.m.

take a baseball bat to
your brother's car.
strike out and
light your matchstick bones,
burning a high fever that
scorches your torn-paper skin,
branding your shattered limbs with the
ink-black, swirling lightning of
your childhood's summer storms.
a tattooed promise along
taut shoulders, bearing,
like atlas, the sky,
with the north star
guiding you towards
peaceful slumber, and
home.

h.f.m.

I dreamed about dying last night.
I was in a plane over icy tundra,
hurtling towards the ground,
but it wasn't the crash that killed me.

I dreamed about dying last night.
The wreckage was quickly surrounded,
wild animals pawing through the ruins,
but it wasn't the teeth and claws that killed me.

I dreamed about dying last night.
I wandered the snow wastes,
lost and frostbitten,
but it wasn't the cold that killed me.

I dreamed about dying last night.
I wasn't done in by the trauma or hungry animals or cold.
I was finally killed by myself.
I gave in and fell asleep.

I woke with a start,
in my bed,
afraid and forgetting.

I dreamed about dying last night.
Still not sure if it meant anything.

h.f.m.