These Cold Hands Poem by RIC BASTASA

cold hands
shall remind me of eventual
endings

such are not necessarily happy
you cannot prevent
some to cry because they love you
even if you have ceased
loving life
itself

you ask me sometimes why my hands are too cold?
i am winter i said

winter in the midst of our summers
when all the rodents are gone

i stare at these cold hands
remembering the story of cold murders
somewhere in those
hidden mountains
where tracks had been concealed
where names have long been
erased

i cannot remember i once told you
when, how, where,
the why is as deep as that ravine
where the wolf howls
for the blue moon

i keep these cold hands
inside my pocket
i walk as fast as i can hoping to forget
what is following me.