of his body as he lies still in the snow.
Shivering takes too much energy,
but eyes continue to grope empty sky.
Stomach continues to reach through diaphragm
toward the smell of wild chrysanthemum
burning yellow in delirious sunlight,
feverish hum of yellow behind tired eyes.
The Cold and the Hunger, two characters familiar.
And he thinks this is surely the end of the world.
His lungs take in a gulp of air, and for a moment,
a piece of the world is his. But then
exhale.
What belongs to him is a whisper,
a fearless, final “goodbye”
floating among the bare trees,
not a leaf to hear.
toward the smell of wild chrysanthemum
burning yellow in delirious sunlight,
feverish hum of yellow behind tired eyes.
The Cold and the Hunger, two characters familiar.
And he thinks this is surely the end of the world.
His lungs take in a gulp of air, and for a moment,
a piece of the world is his. But then
exhale.
What belongs to him is a whisper,
a fearless, final “goodbye”
floating among the bare trees,
not a leaf to hear.
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