with lips flushed pink he exhales
into his woolen scarf, a stream of
doubts and insecurities no one but
the wind can hear

softly and slowly like
the flurries of snow passing
through each december morning,
he inhales a new beginning

no trace of what is left behind
it is only the cold winter breeze
resting against his fingertips
leading him back to comfort

calling him back home