Small, grainy dirt clings to my toes.
The chill of the wet ground syphons
the heat from my feet. I feel my nose
freeze in mid air, a drop of liquid ice
sliding down its bridge in silent testimony.
I step once. The soft cannot shatter. Twice.
The cushions beneath me would not break my fall
for surely I would drop below the ground
to sleep in frozen fire in my six foot stall
that I fill now with handfuls of clay
Just to feel the hug of my Mother.
My body shall return to her; my soul will rot away.