When the door slams,
you can't feel your hands.
Even the stone cracks
after long months of being frozen in ill-content.
Stiff breeze glides across the floor
connects to a foot and cuts to the bone.
A crystal clear ice chandelier
Fades away as each drip unable
to hold its own escapes,
falling alone till it meets what has fell before it
and runs over a step and inevitably off the porch
into a stream.
Glancing out the window.
A stare wishing to see what isn't there.
Then glare, imagine the future
with games of natures magnificent show and tell.
Satisfied with basics, turn around.
Snows blown under now covers ground.
Listen to the kettle sing.
Remove from flame to hear it cry.
Hands throb from a hot mug,
cupped between fingers
aching to not be numb.
Throbbing till all the tea is sipped gone.
Grasp your collar its come undone.
A tiny stone button lies in the way.
Now heat escapes
till cold again.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem