I can't see her face,
so I watch her words.
They are snowflakes, falling
drifting down to land on spikes of frozen hair.
Snowflakes striking – not impaled.
I am shattered
fragments scattered at her feet.
I can't hear his voice,
so I watch his lips.
They are embers, sparking
reaching up to rest on dry and damaged clothes.
Embers smoldering – not enflamed
I am glowing
vapors blowing through his hands.