Matty whispered in my ear
that winter’***** made him blithe.
Maybe it was because
the bleak land outside
paralleled his blatant solemn;
or maybe it was because
the crisp winds could
freeze his tears
before they could fall.
But the winter was when he fell ill,
except his throat wasn’t sore
and his nose didn’t run.
His mind took off instead,
and he left me feeling like winter.