Ice on a window,
frost in the trees,
a warm winter’s pillow,
no longer beneath me.

Snow in my hair,
dark in the morning,
I no longer care
which direction I’m going.

Frozen sidewalks,
cracking roads,
a lonely bird balks–
how poorly it bodes.

Hail above,
and slush down below,
one lost leather glove
which a homeless man stows.

Clouds rolling in,
as far as the eye can see,
how aimlessly walking I’ve been,
yet I find myself exactly where I needed to be.