Icicles hang,
sharp, pointed reminders
of winter’s
cold,
dangerous day.

I close the blinds,
climb in bed again
to sleep, to
dream,
to stop these tears.

I pass long day
on journey into night,
traversing
lands
long forgotten.

Inside my heart,
mansion of many rooms
abandoned,
flows
a river wide.

Rush of springtime,
warm wind lifts and carries
whispering
hope
in mist of your

lyrical voice,
saying, “Let me hold you.
Let it go
now.
Just let it be.”

Perfectly still,
aware of ice cracking
inside and
out,
knowing your call

is not real, that
my sweet imaginings
bring bitter
taste
of truth in time,

I shiver, then
pull my covers closer,
shut my eyes,
see
frozen tundra

that cannot claim
what lies within our hearts,
passion’s fire,
love
that warms me now.

I may indulge
in flagrant fantasy,
immersed full,
dipped
in delusion;

as for you, please,
listen for my voice now,
calling you
home.
Let me hold you.

Let it be.