I think of your cold hands in the frozen forest,
And wonder whether snow will settle
Over all of the sparkles I’ve attempted to thaw from my memory.
The hurricane has yet to pass.
I regret for all of my masochistic muses
That when it does,
I will be shaken off my feet
By the abrupt silence that echoes,
When a dream is struck down
By the past.
I will follow you through the storm.