I never expected winter to carry in a friend,
one who said, “I want to know your mind,”
who listened when I spoke softly,
and heard the colors, too. I was cold,
and you showed me warm, built me
a safe place to release – my alone,
my how it feels to be chased by death,
my real. You said, “I get you.”
And you did. Did you get the pieces
you scattered behind when you left?
These tears belong to you.