When It Snows In The Desert…

there is no grace. Each flake is a poisoned needle
jabbing in my skin.

Every sting of winter is a piece of
her blue eyes,

his blue lips barely parted in a box.
I imagine his last breath and
wonder if it felt like Winter,
if it felt like the cold prick of
hell jabbed into his veins.

Winter has chained me to the past.
What is lost weighs more than everything
Winter has ever given.  I imagine her singing,
and if she sounds like Summer.

I know that I am here now, and I can never go back,
but still, I wonder,
when it snows in the desert.

The Boy By The Pond

I found him by a pond,  he was  fishing for
gold. I had  no interest in
his endeavor, just his pretty smile.
He told me later that he
did pluck his treasure
that day,  hidden deep within the water.

 When I asked him what  it was, he only
smiled and laughed,  then took my
hand, kissed  my cheek
and took me for a walk.
We traveled up and up for what seemed  like
forever.  Climbing jagged rocks
through a blizzard,  the wind screaming at  me
to ascend no further.

 The sharp boulders sliced open  my knees,
threatening my balance,  my insides
started to freeze…I stopped in my spot, slid my
hand out of his.
I warned him that he was climbing to high;
he must stop! But he trudged on; claiming that
he could reach the top
and told me just to watch him!

 I knew what was coming, it was too much to
bear, so I turned my cold back on him
as he kept climbing, I began my descent
without him.
Two  days later, they found him dead.
Swollen like  a twisted ankle, as purple as a bruise.

 It’s been some time now, since I climbed
down that mountain
but my insides are still un-thawing.