Death of a Breath

It looked more beautiful.

Less, she thought, less of a cage

It resembled a dream.

She stood and watched the silent scene

The usually green manicured lawn

Now blanketed in white

A still river shone like liquid steel

That parted the crystals of snow

And the streetlights

High on their silver pedestals

Played the role of the nonexistent moon

Shining through the carefully trimmed trees

Leaving shadows that were as cold

And tired as the concrete sidewalks

And her breath, hot and warm

Swirled like steam from between her lips

And flew excitedly into the beam of light

Illuminating her square of concrete

And was struck down quietly. 

As she watched the death

Of her own exhalation

She kept the silence

Simply watched with dark eyes

The little wisp flutter like a moth

To the snow.

And her hand, she could now see

As she held it up to her face

Was yellowing in the glare

And she realized

The danger of dreams

Is that there are no doors

For escape.