Holding The Handle

Cold gathers

at the nape of the neck

where all that matters

meets between

heart and head

Shiver the spine

with mulberry wine

Cold then warm

It slows our time

Numb like Novocain

upon the brain

We drift underneath

a skin deep rain

There we watch

the mirror bend

at the silvery edge

of our hearts again

There we stand

as we fell before

holding the handle

of an open door