We grew from the land of ice

that never froze--

not really.

Trike tires skidding on chilled asphalt

in the way they did,

the rain came indoors,
through basement drains;
water clung to the wet neighbor dog.
Bones were cold and clueless

interior beings curled up close

to one another on soggy sofas.

Now my lips lack moisture,
white ash and dust
shrivel round the red peach skin red
that used to be, but now isn't

save when they bleed in dry smiles.

This could be sweet deliverance.