Brought Back to the Blizzard

To be

In this place again

This field stricken with new-fallen

White sky falling customarily

In its flat crystalline hiss

Whispering

Dead leaves

So

This place again

Dead weeds bent

By below zero gale

Like flying glass

Pierces my jacket

My ribcage

My heart

Cold

Hard place this

Miles from home

The storm gaining strength

Its ghost-roar exhaling

A fury of shards

Like venom

Here

There seems

Only one solution

Hands in pockets

Narrow my eyes

Collar turned up

Walk and breathe

Breathe and walk

Until I am home

In motion

Through the snowstorm

I am glad because

I choose to stop

Wondering why

And simply choose

To be