Chestnut hair,
Winding down
As the covering cloak
Over your pale face,
Tortured cheeks.
The wind comes through,
Mocking enough.
I plow my way to your arms,
Hurling snow, overboard
To see that which floats
Upon the icy meadows,
The icy shores.
Your stagnant expression
Moves only when I sigh,
Only when I cry.
Your subtle motions
To the sounds of sorrow,
Make you come from wave
To wave.
You become the siren of a sad tune,
The woman with no spot
To call a home.
Your seeded self,
Sprouts only memory
From the spot where you landed,
Hurting yourself,
Shouldering yourself
In the tireless toil
While the ocean comes to a boil.
Beneath the shelter of your eyes,
I am faded.
