My mind is clear, early winter
Bathes the landscape in its abandon.
There is no room for you here.
The dewy chill has numbed me,
the storms of our summers
are memory in the fog of my breath.
Here I loved you in my summer.
Here the grass is brown, as your eyes.
But my mind is clear
You are ice, forgotten
With only the ghost of my touch.
A breath.
There is no room for me here -
There will be no summer for me.