His breath rises in the night
in puffs and tendrils that swirl
and then freeze to crystal,
each word a microscopic snowflake,
no two alike.
Shivering, he stands as
the familiar darkness gathers around him,
and leaves lay prostrate at his feet.
He has been called into the cold
by a feeling both light and sad.
With a keen and careful eye
he can see a tear drop shatter
four hundred miles away.
He watches as it falls.
He knows that broken
it is lighter than when whole,
it being more than water and salt,
for it bears the full weight
of that ceaceless organ,
the half-pound that pushes
and lives and loves.
The tear-spray evaporates.
Taken into the night air
it will freeze to crystal
where sometime soon,
four hundred miles away,
it will fall from a dark sky
on another night when he feels called
where it will melt in the palm of his hand.