once, i was the first to touch snow.
my fingers contaminating a city of ivory
with color blossoming from my fist.

crescents of frost formed under my
fingernails as
i crept from slumbering houses, pulling
myself into moonlight.

snowflakes dripped from bottom lashes, bleeding
over my skin until
i was as pale as winter;
i was the last breath
it took.

every step broke open
my marrow, spilling myself
on the silence –
i could only
amble slowly, conscious
of the crunch of each
bare foot, blushing beat
in my heart exposed.

and december was in my bones,
sleeping

while i was awake, stretching toward
a sky blotted by the brightness
of quietude

building up in soft drifts in my throat
as shooting stars melted on my tongue.

now between breaths
are dreams of december,
as light as the time i was the first
to touch snow.