the wind was chilling my bones
the way that you used to
as all of it swept
so did I
in the midst of me

I lost myself
in all of those pale nights
all of the water in the air
drops of melancholic pain

perhaps it was the being
the being of broken
a gentle soul fearing
so much to fear

once it dropped
blackness all over
the imprint of ink
scattered on her palm

as fore today
the only thing
was her