The Spark


Sometimes I  feel
like a match in an ice storm waiting to
catch a spark
in the static frost of my 
breathing to survive another day.

Sometimes I think this fear of 
the dark is a gift
from those around me,
like a smile holding the 
flicker of  candlelight

to comfort me

Sometimes I am in shadow
and you are the light
that guards my back,
holding me to the warm cleft
of your chest, until the shadow 
recedes as I stain my face with salt.

You are the spark in the 
winter wind and you warm
the frigid gaps in space
of my frozen heartstrings 

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