night will chill, and so the moon
stems the flowers in full bloom.
cloudy cutting snow and sleet
gives limit to your cautious feet.

a crystal forms in my viscera,
I hurl it, swirling, in terra,
on hooded folks dodging one another,

visiting granite graves whose flowers don't stand a chance
where scuffs struggle to uncover through hermetic blanche
a single patch to scratch my last,
and finally retreat en masse.

you think inside your slated rows,
away from freezing steel and sodium glow,
my fingers will fall away.

I am in the fog that coats your spectacles,
I am in the smirking glance it conceals,
I am in the chariot that thaws you through,
and so
are you