This December frost chills my frozen heart,
still in love with snow that falls behind the moons dark. 
I draw letters in the fog of the window
with my shaking fingers scared of what lye just opposite the other side
 hoping that since the electricity went out I’ll find light in the fire flies. 
I’m cold, but there’s no sun filled horizon to melt this body blocked in ice.
  I’d even settle for stormy weather a little rain seems like just the catastrophe to hold my life together.
 I’m tired of hail and ice falling out of the sky like diamonds, cutting my bare skin, bleeding me leaving me in August’s will, tossing me adrift the winds like a raging hurricane.
I was lifted in mid-air, effortlessly, without any caution to the wind. 
Like an empty bag, blowing in the breeze, tumbling aimlessly as the earth picks up speed. 
I feel like I am atop the highest mountain in this December air. 
Hard to breathe, unbearable to stand, incapable, my limbs are numb. 
I was advised to wake up when September ends. 
But how shall the dead rise, if they were buried in August?  
It is the one immortal wall that I can’t seem to ever walk through, so I will dissolve, serve as water for this December Ice, freezing over, becoming another transparent solid, for this frozen world.