When I stand outside
surrounded by January
and open my mouth wide
The air that slides
over my tongue
tastes like winter, like
snowflakes and icicles
Cold and sweet

I taste it inside, too
and I'm amazed
when I look at my home
and see that it is not
made of ice cubes
that form a white dome
and a tiny door
and a frozen home

Even wrapped in layers
of blue cotton and wool
I tremble and vibrate
I shiver from the cold
and that sweet icicle air
crawls down to my heart
freezes my blood
turns my skin to ice

January
is far too cold
for me