you are a broken twig
snapped between the fingers
of a willow tree
stretched too thin

you are the solemn oath
of wind and mist and smoke
to simply be
to chill, to blind, to stifle

you are the folded cloth
creased and weighed down
over many years
I will be the one to shake you loose

you are the dust of decades
a notch in every inch of my skin
filled by your dry breath
washed away by lake water

19

January