the death of winter

you used to say you loved me

because of the way I thought about the world

you said I saw things differently than others 

I don’t know how to tell you why that is

that morning I woke up before the sun rose 

there’s something about new york at five a.m. 

when the streets have finally cleared out,

the clangor subdued

there hangs an emptiness and a stillness,

threaded with the subtle knowledge that life is about to resume 

the streets are cold in march 

the snow melted away,

but winter leaves traces of its sting

in the bites of wind, and the overcast clouds 

my arms shivered against my sweater as we waited for the car

in the crisp air of the morning

it’s like you can breathe in the city 

feel it in you while the soles of your shoes rub against the concrete 

maybe once all of my bones 

are finally cracked

you will allow me to feel again