Letters

Sitting in the cold —-
My breath exiting as a faint ghost
And noises are but distant murmurs
Sat on frosted breeze,
My state led me to think
Is this a glimpse of myself
Upon death’s door
With feet hovering
Ever so slightly,
I feel a joy in the invite of
Exhausts and the cooling cup of coffee,
Seems a promise rests
In an ever-feared release