In the cold. (a poem)

You are a constellation in the cold.
The only pattern I know.
A warmth, a cure
a grace, a truth,
a light
to lead me home.

I exhale a breath of longing
and gaze as it tarries like
a glance between lovers.

I carve your name into my fog.
It zooms into me like a telescope.
A mirror and a metaphor.
Reflecting the cosmic heights
of my deep need.

The sun refracts
upon the surface of my soul,
and I am saved
in the dark,
in the lie,
in the cold.

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