Frosted grass.
Rubber feet.

An indented path
to follow.

Head down,
eyes up.

Violet
white
above
stretches over housetops
and the roofs
of trees.

Air
whitens around
my face
silvers and
disappears.

Hollowed cheeks smoke
a windpipe.

A steam train
puffs billy­goat forms of
pure

fingers curl
whisk in, and out
and into
the tiny wasted wreckages of things used up.

And I return to the shivering trail,

light as a newly escaped
eyelash
resting on a cheek.