In winter’s stillness,
beneath a powdering of frost,
I reached for your sunlight:
gentle, golden, tasting of salt.

I glimpsed a softness in you,
a warmth I thought I could hold.
But beneath the surface,
grief coursed like ice and snow.

Still, I fed you candlesticks,
drenched myself in kerosene,
seeking a way to warm your soul
and ignite the love between.

But the embers die and fade,
as we yearn for the sun’s return.
And in this quiet, I finally see:
I cannot warm
what refuses to burn.