The hills rolled and faded away
in an obscuring gray snowfall daze
and he doesn't want her

A pair of pairs of jeans and a
gray hoodie with thermals underneath
couldn't warm him up to her

His head, three hoods deep, dreams
coddled in disbelief at the time passed between
the last she had him and now

These months, years they may seem,
are minuscule minutes in the eyes of history
and he keeps breathing without her

With the snow now up to his knees
and a want to be buried beneath the damp gray
he hitches deep and coughs