your lips are moving but everything else is lost
in tendrils of cool fog
and I open my mouth to speak, but my words are
left frozen in my throat.
and then the moment dissipates into a million iced
dewdrops balanced on grass before imploding
like a snow squall breaking over a hillside in a flurry
of white and noise and we are lost in it;
fumbling madly for leverage, for direction in
a place where there is none.