Late December, chilled by a window: "When will this cold go."No intuition, no harbinger how complete cold can be.
Walked to the kitchen and made lunch
This winter holds hard, holds cruel, no pardon, my heart pounds.
My warmth lost, never saw it slipping, never knew its meaning.
Never saw and lost all.
Surrounded, enveloped, swathed in shards iced brittle, winter gripped
With detritus devised to hurt deeply, grief cut heavy with regret.
Sorrow hoar'd hard with rue.
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