Cold, white, beautiful quiet
winter, as she rests outside.
I sit, keys underhand
in mind, in heart, inside.
Away from all the weather
and concerns of cold and ice.
Close to all my problems,
my virtue and my vice.
I’m not one to run away
into the dark and snow.
I’m more of a hideaway
my face I loathe to show.
I hardly know what to do
about my myself and I.
No one else would know better
thus it’s best they don’t see why.
I’m not forever bound to this world,
I don’t believe any of us are.
I’ll hold together a little longer,
to wait, to see how far.
