Hiding in Layers

The arms of the trees are aching,

Bundles of foliage slipping from their numbed fingers.

Branches shiver in the wind as summer sprints away.

Bristling winds gnaw at my fingertips with teeth

Of fine mist, which may or may not be frozen -- 

It is gusting too strongly for me to tell.

The sun anemically fades into a cloudy horizon,

And I point my feet towards home.

I am shivering by the time I arrive at my door.

I wrap myself in sheets and blankets,

Attempting to ward away the chill.

I close my eyes and immediately open them,

But the sun has now retired,

The moon keeping her pointless vigil

In this cloud-clogged sky.

I can't recall the dream,

But I know it was about you.

Winter is a soft steel brush against my window pane.

I lay awake, listening to the quiet groan of weary branches.

I think I can still remember the way you smiled at me,

The way your innocent ebullience looked --

If I blink, the memory could be wiped away,

Erased.

And so, I spend the night with open eyes,

Wishing my hands were warmer,

That you were here to hold them.