i wonder

it's quiet over the cemetary

there's snow on the porcelain angel wings

on the solemn gravestone with no markings

i see people footprints making small trails

crossing eachother like railroad tracks

leading the winter wanderers home

the trees are bare of their leaves

how does it feel to lose that

which you've grown by dozens at

a time with the simple breath

of a breeze and to lose dozens more at the

howling of the wind

i wrap my arms around my shoulders

and make believe the layers of

clothing is protecting me from

spilling my insides onto the

blanket of white and burning over

i wonder who has use of a frozen heart

who would think frozen water could burn

from something other than joy on

a chirstmas evening and that fire can burn

from something other than cold like the snow

i am touching i wonder why beauty burns

like fire in a fireplace or like ice to the touch

or like sleep when it's freezing