this cold is far too abundant. there’s so much winter left, but i’m still mid-summer.
/i haven’t even made it to fall/
my limbs are still all underneath-green. all new-birth and life.
/do you know what the shock of constant snowfall does to hot-blooded saplings/
i’m bending and breaking under the crush of frost-permeated boughs. heavy-drift, weighing down my softer parts.
/and sure, in autumn i would be just as likely to snap/
but that’s a clean break. that’s bones, brittle and frozen to a crystallized ache, splitting with out the rough edges. summer drenched in blizzard creates tears. it is sinew and tendon shards still clinging to one another. it pulls and stretches, all supple arches and willowy-give.
/and it’s the shredding that aids the lingering/
do other people hold on the way that i do?