Well, first, it's cold.
The kind of bitter cold that
puts the faux-marmoreal precision
of Celsius and Fahrenheit to shame,
making them look like two well intentioned fools
trying to dissect the cold as it slices through
your skin.
Then, secondly, the black ice is gone,
thank God, taken away by the flurry that
refreshed the snow. The dog glides over it
so that, almost, for a second,
I can forget that time passes.
Lastly, space is still an inadequate category
to describe how it feels to be situated
in relation to so many things and places
throughout this life.
Walking streets is still mainly an exercise in memory
more than it is any physical thing.
That's my brief report which I wrote
in my head while still learning how to be here.
The dull ache shifts and turns inside of me and
is unborn with each passing day.
Perhaps eventually it will complete its untransformation,
from an active, crying thing, back into a zygote.
I hope you are well and that your day was good,
apologies that the report is so brief.
I would write more but it's too cold
and I'm worried about the dull baby
waking into grief.
P.S I love you and miss you.