The Cold

February sky
Crystalline. Cold.
Great Bear wandering the north sky
And the Hound coursing the south
Twenty-eight degrees at 1 a.m.
Boots dangling from the hood of an old truck
Watching my breath float skyward
Tumbler of cab in one hand
The other in my pocket
Head quiet, heart beating loudly

It’s my way.
Vest loosely zipped
Flannel sleeves rolled up past my elbows
I need the cold. Need to feel it.
Like a bit of the old heartache deep inside.
It tells me I’m alive. That I have a heart left.
And maybe…
Just maybe…
Something worthwhile to offer
To someone who would have it.



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