Inside
Proof of your presence fades
like the footprints of a
fleeing hare in a snow storm.
A cloak of ice leaves the world
unrecognizable.
Silence ruthlessly stabs holes
in the frigid air; filling them seems
impossible. Inside is
my arm's length away,
but the door is frozen shut.
Don't worry about it, really,
I'd rather stay outdoors.
Posted Jan 27, 2018, 11:53 PM UTC · edited
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