Snow Crunches Underneath My Feet

Snow crunches underneath my feet
In Styrofoam snickers scarce
Comfort against the face-splitting cold
That blasts the years away this instant
Filling me with tremble and squint
At the cloak of icy needles pressing
Down and into me
With a wicked whisper:
"I Am"

I am standing in the heat
That wraps around and fills
My lungs with dusty syrup
Thickened in the holes I dig
For trees that rarely live
Or matter much, except in planting
There's the fun, the joy
Of gambling with life
On the edge of a shovel

Still, I'm here, it's cold
So goddamned cold
I'll never sweat again
Or bitch about the bugs
And nights spent tossing
Wishing air would move
And grant me rest
In cool, dry sheets
Upstairs with the windows open
In the trees.