That tree is bones in catacombs is darkness in winter is the wet chill of falling into the lake is the sturdy simple swayings of wind is the creak in your finger when you wake up in the morning is the concrete of a naked building is the danger of you in the naked building is the nakedness of embarrassment is the parka on your trip far away from home is me writing this to you with shaking fingers is the lack of oxygen forcing my fire out is white air when we breath is the shell of something warm and full is the breaking and cracking of bones with old age is the reassurance of cycles is the lifetime of Earth is the lifeblood of Earth is the sun rising and falling and the temperature falling and falling is the chill down our backs when we step outside is the chill down my back when I see you is the way we embrace and the tears on your cheeks freezing into icicles.
