Kaltfront
You leave, but the snow finds you.
Cobbles reflect ice and steps.
(The street is the back of a reptile).
You follow the snow,
the windows make you a saint,
you are in a church.
You are well wrapped in cloth,
you stride with intent,
your heart is an unformed pump.
You are a fireplace, cold and ashen.
Copyright © Leslie Philibert | Year Posted 2016
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