Winter Passing
My God, let my body break in cold months.
The first flurries look further than my white —
Where my form sink under this frozen touch,
Winter's last, return my kiss back to light —
As the snow beats into my epitaph,
I'm still on the mound, outside my last gasp,
My little bit of snow laid in my breath,
For heaven was created before death.
It's hard to believe that there the cold stays,
This frost's inner hurt buried in a grave —
Winter memory breaking still lingers.
A stone cross's statue brushed my fingers
Rubbing dust on dust; turns to my soft glow
As remembered as footprints in the snow.
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