In the cold I was alone.
My voice scooped
a hole in the snow.
There was no grand story.
I broke the truth into
little shards of ice
that turned to lies
and scampered off.
Could no longer
cap the rot with silver
like a molar, or
distill my life into
the same fist-sized stone.
Everything I knew
was wrong. There was
no getting around it.
I tracked a circle
in the rigid dirt
and knelt inside.
I would not let
myself leave until
I understood.
That too was
a mistake.