There are layers
Between each breath
Of this cold
That carries your whispers,

Like winds
Whose secretive phrases
Are weapons
Which scathe like grit

And seasons
Telling their past
Knowing weather
Reflects such derision

While passively
Killing our moment
As climates
Aggressively change –

Those hidden gusts
We can sense
When trees grow blank
Over winter

Where empty lanes
Become canvas
For connected paths
Soon obscured

By snow drifts
Speaking soft phrases
Poetically caught
Losing meaning

But deliberately
Covering footsteps
Long written through trails
We had paced,

Walking once
Beneath gentle flakes
Forming beautiful shapes
Lacking semblance

Around shuttered doors
Mocking happiness
Near powdery lies
Built from ice.

Smiles just fade
Very fast
After temperatures dip
Without warning.

I keep candles
Burning in windows
Remembering how warmth
Used to feel

Since November
Doesn’t seem fair
Bringing frost
Besides yearly reminders

Some memories wreak
Stealing voices
Describing what hope
Remains left.

• J. Pigno