and the snow brings me back to you

the snow has visited again.

it freezes my hands,

they are red

and pale

and not really

mine at all.

a lot of things aren’t mine.

the way i breathe

is mine,

gentle and promising

and catching in my throat.

the curve of how

i love is mine,

timed and measured

and balanced.

the curve of how i move

is mine,

measured

and balanced

and timed.

(repetition)

& breath & balance))

in the parentheses

of my hands

i find the purity of childhood

and a longing for snow

in the boniest part

of my stomach.

in the achiest part

of my calves

i find the white of the snow.

the white and the clean

and the blank and

the empty.

promises and

silences.

the snow brought me back to you,

walking and talking to

snowflakes;

singing to the sensation

of a snowflake

settling on the rise of my chest.

crests and peaks.

i am crest and peak

and trough and

promise

and parenthesis.

i am snow.