November (revisted)

Dawn breaks through the wiry wispy trees

as the wind blows in its heavy breath of cruel November

through the cracks of my screen-less window.

She lies beside me through all of this without a care in the world

but her apathy is not deliberate

Sadness burns through her stomach

and
it hurts as a burn should,

but not in the way a burn

burns the skin

in a way a burn burns the soul

and

the mind, respectively -

forcing the knees to touch her chest -

chin tucked into her tiny neck

bringing the poor girl back into the womb

back into the infancy cocoon

back into the deep nine month sleep

only to be born again,

born into this again,

with the ability to understand

and cope with living in a world

where change is constant

and
ease of  a smile is harder

than one thinks.

But still she lies there, silently

softly, wrapped inside

a sad dream that seemed to stretch on

her entire thirty-one years.

and it’s still November

and it’s still dawn

and the grey is still stuck across the sky

and I’m still crippled by 

the cold

and 

her apathy remains, 

cold,

and

unchanged

because

THE WIND 

never touches 

her.