I know if I were not sensitive to cold
\nthere is a festival in the open snow.
\nIf I could snap the icicles
\nfalling from the eaves,
\nI would put them to my lips
\nand trumpet the sound of winter
\nin their horns.
\nBut I can not live there anymore.
\nIt belongs to absolute zero.
\nTo the groaning sea ice
\nblocking the locks between
\none lake to another.
\nOne sea to the endless proportions
\nof a faraway storm.<\/p>\n
Rather, the white uniforms of nurses
\ntending to the patients
\nof the physician\u2019s office,
\ndraw me away passing out forms,
\nstanding at attention calling out names,
\nrousing the eyes of a staring soul,
\nnot in love as I,
\nwith the winter snow outside.
\nWhere sweetness touches my lips,
\nand calls from bushes
\nthrowing a ball of white asteroid,
\nto explode against my chest,
\nnew earth in the making.
\nTime is calling to me from the snow
\nas if I have no time for dying,
\ninside where I keep warm.<\/p>\n
Trying to locate all the numbers
\nand codes I need
\nto gain entrance to the doctor\u2019s care.
\nAnd in sheer frustration
\nI drop my papers and look outside
\nto the imaginal beings waving to me.
\nKeep a place for me I call in a
\nwhisper.
\nI am little, I want to make angels
\nin the snow,
\nlaugh an endless laugh,
\nwhile a white uniform picks up
\nmy papers, smiles
\nand leads me away as I say
\ngoodbye, to people that love me,
\noutside.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
I know if I were not sensitive to cold there is a festival in the open snow. If I could snap the icicles falling from…<\/p>\n