The sharp whistle of winters breath upon my neck
beckons that I turn my head and look back at the foot prints that meander behind.
These complex engravings may share the same code as another individual,
but the trail will never lead to the same place.

As my nape is kissed by death herself
the past is slowly turned over with the fluid motion
that follows my mind through the path of yesterday;
which never seems to fill itself up more than once.

Worthless, it deems itself, as it’s an area that
i’m already proficient with knowledge of.
Though archaeology has proven to dig up
more false statements than any
jury duty has ever rested a decision on.

Suddenly authenticity flutters into my eyes,
with a clear glimpse of my frozen toes and all the glitters that come and go.
This movement of enlightenment occurred
the same instant my mind transferred back to reality, and what lied ahead.