Rumours like echoes
That reverberate off ice
Memories sometimes just don't feel like playing nice

They are the textures
Of the fabric that I wear
The holes, a coldness  
Through the stitches you made there.

Still the darkening of the day
Leaves long shadows
That persist in the strangest ways
And a chilling wind blows
Until the night swallows up
All the light

I send out words for the living
Thin but bright as if of chrome
Returning echoes are the ones that make it home.