There were times I thought
about not thinking about it,
aborting its fruition.
One final hug,
one final glance,
the marble floor colder than before.
And that was it.

What felt so foreign felt so adoring,
what felt so right was so wrong.
My soul a frozen climber clinging for life,
unaware he’s freezing.
Starting first in his knuckles,
spreading through his veins,
finishing in his heart.

It was snowing,
two,
three feet at a time.


Each snowflake staring at me in desperation,
tacit gasps dismantled by the concrete.
if only I heard their heckles,
      their pains,
               their signs,
                       their wisdom.
What astute advice they gave I’ll never know,
but I thank each one.

I found love,
and gave it back.
Studied myself, and came right back.
It became its own fruition.