hypnagogic anamnesis

standing in the snow with stale winter hair
singing along with feeling to her formerly favourite songs
the cloud of breath that spills from her lungs provides the musical accompaniment
as her drowsy memories make the sound warmer than the hot chocolate she forgot
back on the porch
of the home
she lost
an age

it’s hard to be unloved, but harder to be forgotten
the bite of the frost feels like penance and epiphany at once
the chill that nips at her heels as sharp as the words that fell from her lips
and the numb fingertips that fit like gloves remind her she’ll never—


—never get to trace them along their body again

but the snow that falls from the sky still cradles her body
and surely that’s enough
to feel like love
at least for one sleepy night, deep in her hazy recollection
of days where wintry nights
like fire