The gauze frost has laid
on panes and sun dissolves
fades as my tepid breath
makes a clearing on the glaze.
As if one afternoon could
have the least effect on time,
on someone scraping rime
to gaze at the gibbous moon
through gelid glass
which brittle branches graze.
There are no maps to trace
the slopes we shared, only limbs
bared in the sweep frost ungirds,
cold which leaches light away,
loss no beauty can allay.