Cold As Ice

A poem from a few years ago, which I submitted today to the "Loneliness Project" . . .

Sunshine and traffic noises,

the world waking up from winter,

and I am cold as ice.

In a moment I shall go walking

among the celandines and primroses,

and I shall hope not to meet too many people.

So much brightness, so many smiles!

And I am cold as ice.

I have begun to run out

of jobs to do, of tasks to perform,

of helpful, mindless bits of therapy;

I shall have to start to think again soon.

That’s hard:  thinking takes energy

and I am cold as ice.

So I watch the tree-creeper

winding mouselike up the rutted trunk

of the pine across the yard from my window;

the bird flips back down,

a quick flurry of wings,

to begin again his climb.

I also have to begin again,

having come down so very suddenly

to the place where I now sit.

I also have to begin again,

but I am cold as ice.