In this house
I am invisible;
breathless, soundless,
I slip through the silences
I wipe away my fingerprints
I smooth blankets to cover any
imprint of my body

In this house
there is no air left for me.
My face is milk
my thoughts are water.

Swallowing Ice Whole

so cold my breath has shattered
hands moving backwards

there is no spring coming this year,
buds rotting in infancy

there is not enough heat in his whole love to trigger my thaw
not enough whole love in his heat to move my frozen limbs

just a sigh could strain my brittle branches
an intake of breath

some unintended motion and I will break into pieces
too small to feel like anything but dust.