Decemmembris creeps back in
as I grab stones to generate
warmth within them.
Fingers rigid – palms smooth.
I roll the cold in circular motions.
Decemmembris enters on
feathers with fine edges.
Smooth to touch, the softness of
a tree’s leaf that breaks away
from the cold.
Decemmembris replaces the
warmth of summer days with
your frigid voice that bites through
the exterior, forming steamy circles
in the air becoming frozen in time.