Missing arrows
Shot far over decades of want
Aiming to meld
One soul to another
I see a field of tall grain
I feel a gust of wind
A careless gust
That seizes across the expanse
Of my barley, flax and rye
You careless wind
You thoughtless storm
You destructive force
You tall sequoia rotting from within
You gentle warm and sheltering bastion
You hunter
You march into territories reckless and cruel
Once I went to hold some snow
These two very hands
Unscarred, unwrinkled
Small, bare and grasping
I held that accumulation of flakes in my hand
I watched ice melt
I sensed something new
I grabbed more of the snow
Sunk my hands in
And they began to ache
The bones and the nerves sent messages to me
Numb
Aching
Difficult to move
Cold
So cold
Tell me
Why are you made of snow?