Winter and the Surface of My Sea

The cold sits outside my window smacking its forehead
against the glass…a rhythmic beating…a low frequency
lament; a greeting a threat a mindless call to come out |
and have my soul sucked through my skin—through my
inattention—to help me leave this earth this life

Within my memory sea I feel it’s misery its crying need
for friendship connection…with squinting despair I have
no intent to acquiesce to agree to join that mortal spiral
down toward the collapse of movement of mission
from motivation I can only look and listen to the rattle

A memory fish swims toward the surface of simple thinking;
a boot a foot the cold cold cold of a 10 year old walking
across imagination and hope, across time I feel  the cement
hardness of packed snow and numb toes, clenched hands
diving to the lowest depth of useless pockets

The fish nibbles at my edges watching the cold on the other
side of glass thinking in two dimensions; then and now I
feel my own heat, my life radiating outward toward the rest
of humanity…the cold dispassionate…watching my dreams
waft in and out of thinking…of sharing my warmth

The cold rages quietly—pent up pressures of sadness—just
outside…freezing the surface of my sea, creating a thin
grey & translucent barrier—acting—cement and stone, an
icy wall separating me from what I knew (I didn’t know much)
to what I know now (that I wish I didn’t)

The cold, the fish, the ice and the sea…all collude toward
agreement, a choice made about living without knowing the
choice made…a 10 year old, his feet in cold boots, his mind all
about moving forward, going home and the me watching
the cold now through glass…almost no difference.

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