Snowball Effect

That day, you gave me an entethered bouquet
Of bluebells and salmon pink crossandra.
My name was suddenly
A song I never heard before
Under the orchestra of your breath.

Now, every microscopic thing you have to say
Is riddled with ice, ghost-gray.
I walk through what used to be your flesh,
Just a trick of willow shadows and blue, eclipsing moon,
A game that honeysuckle plays
Holding the last breath of summer breeze,
And now the avalanche of glacier ice
When a falling brown leaf would suffice.