It Is Cold Poem by RIC BASTASA

it is cold
there is still this mist
the early morning frost
that they talk about
and now you believe
nature's indifference

you press your palm
on your cheek and let
it stay on the side of
your neck

you hold your thick hair
with your left hand
saving what heat
still lives there

you exhale not often
you save this warm breath
of life inside your chest
inside your veins


you still want to live
a little longer
far from what you
have written in one of
your midnight poems

you put yourself
sometimes in shame
saying one thing and
doing another

the mouth babbles more
to the silent wishes
of your heart