Winter's March

Winter marches south blanketing the world in frost every time you turn to walk away. Volleys of arrows from your eyes stop the sun from thawing out my hands. The words roll from your tongue to he seas teeming with aliens, buckling my legs as I sleepwalk on deck. The gates slam their iron spikes into my side as you push away with hands pink as embarrassment. The birds fall from perches in the clouds, tumbling gracelessly when you close the door behind you and the doorknob burns my hand as I try to breach the house you’ve set aflame. The conflagration spirals upward and the searing current takes you home, alone.