The stars shine in my winter sky.
‘Perfect’ opens my lips.
I watch where I remain.
Cashmere clings to the slope of my shoulder,
I am lost in a storm of ice
cold expanse, longer shadows, I am not prepared to see.
Was it — is this — my all?
I think I will stay here where it is warm,
sparkling frost glazes my eyes,
holds me firmly—
like rusted steel on the garden gate.
I will not quit.
Will not. Quit.
Cold, it is in me.
This is where I am.
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