She had to come, for one
last icy touch upon my skin –
– to cut a quiet chill through my awakening
flesh –
and turn,
slowly away
deliberately growing
smaller to my senses
more behemoth to my soul
knowing what I know of Winter:
again she will
return to lay on top of man
press his breath from out the lungs
silence the beating of his heart
prod him to remember
how small his place
in time, space,
and matter.


About A. S. Ellis

I am always learning. Always. And that is as it should be.
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