The ice between us fogs from my breath,
as even the distorted, crystalline figure I see from here
is beautiful.

You couldn't hear me tell you that anyway;
my shy voice cannot pass through our glacier.

I wish I knew if you could see me from here;
have you fogged your side as well?
Or do you prefer the sanctity of the ice?

I cannot find comfort in the sparse, lukewarm words
that find their way to me. However,
I press forward, chipping away
with my timid gestures,

hoping to hear the true heat of your voice.