Frozen Things: Draft One: College

The frost on the windshield gathers thickly in sheets and I stay
occupied in exhalation, white breath expanding like storm clouds
inside of the car, the steam rising from my hot lungs and throat.
This is the morning: frozen power lines, birds gripping the crisp
branch of a wire, threading the world by a voice,
circuits and sockets, the dry grasses pushing mortar
through cracks in the sidewalk.

I dig my hands into pockets, tighten my toes round the clutch,
there are things to be thought about:
mathematics, life in a cave, the damp walls
dripping with the absence of water, of life;
I am alive in the shadows.
There are things to be carefully considered like
what shall I cook for my supper and did I eat enough
for my breakfast: crumbs of toast, melting jam.
Frost faces staring back from a car at a stop light,
the desperate action, quarter turn to the left,
soft push on the pedals, restraint.

I wanted you to be here, this time.
a warm mouth in the morning heating
my cheeks and my lips, the blue cavity I take life in through.
December to January, there is no difference between
the falling of snow or the frost of a night freeze,
each blanketing my body inside of my bed,
alone under covers, clenching the case of a pillow
inside my red fist, wanting, wanting.