January

Part of me always wonders why Nose runs
wet and the cold (which should freeze) instead melts;
heat should do that job. Goosebumps pebble in
vain–by bunching up, I feel less covered.
Hair’s huddling at the apex, and the air
is going through to the back of my teeth.
It hurts, but I’m

                                   watching dragon’s breath, grinning to ache
because that pain means life, though only
those who know winter well can understand.
Swinging bare arms with the exuberance
of a ten year old self who feels only
adventure; who would search the snow for white
leopards, the snow cats waiting for my pounce
to play. Part of me forgets in July
and dies, not to be reborn until the
first sign of snowprints in January.