Of What, I Am Not Certain

I remember when
Our eyes opened
With the rising of the sun

The smell of morning air
And a renewal that cannot quite be captured
In words
Can only be felt
But for a moment

I remember standing
Behind a frozen pane of glass
Staring out
Into a world of swirling white
Wondering
Whether there was still anything left at all
Beyond

There is a chill which lingers
In the air even in warm rooms
Waiting
Until finding its way
Straight through thick jackets
Shirts and flesh beneath
Straight to the core
Of what, I am not certain
For I have felt it so many times before
But cannot trace
From where it started
Nor when or where it ceased to be

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9 thoughts on “Of What, I Am Not Certain

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