The withdrawing

 

 

each day a little snow has fallen

collecting         in crevices

changing his temperature                  degree by degree

so faint                        that only he can notice

 

large round flakes fall

onto his arms              face                breast

hold their shape                      for a moment

melt

 

He sees                        a dusting of snow                   on his shoulders

caressing                 over these last weeks                        accenting their bony shape

no energy to shake it off                    almost does not feel

the loss of warmth                  slowing blood

 

dark wind’s fury grows                       sneaks in through cracks

blows flakes                  smaller                      at an angle

onto his side                      making

mounds                     on hips

 

                weight               almost             nothing

each morning                  muscles                               tighter

slower                                     becoming rigid

            blood cold                               almost ice

 

buried under drifts                                bound joints

                        frozen flesh

                entombed in a          home of snow

 

deeper                eyes closed

                                                            hiding

                                                                                                snow-white

                                                lost

Sharon Lopez Mooney, The withdrawing, from “Literary Forest”, Issue Four, ed. Abbie Hart, Houston, TX, USA 2022