Hold in my cold arms
The fewest displacements of your unending height,
For you have become too invisible to follow
Under the guise of my misguided innocence,
Too white to say is untouched,
Like snow yet to receive the iron,
Like flesh yet to receive a cut.
I am too cold under my white blanket,
With screams caught in my throat,
Listening for the choking children,
Whose faces are stuck in position.
Like mirth without birth,
Like too many parasites upon windows,
Like too many onlookers to the open scenes
Of wilted shrubs where roses cannot gather.
Like arms that should to me,
I could travel backwards to them
Without snow that never lasts,
For the undertow of a million more pains.
For innocence’s sake,
I could seal my eyes with gentle tightness,
Evening skies with my worn face,
Wandering to where love used to take.