a sign

i have this image in my head
of how it goes.
it snows.
or else, it rains.
and my house is unheated
the insides are cold
as cold as you.
you stand there, blue lipped
and choking.
but not dead yet,
just come to let
some words be said.
i'll say, what happened
and you say, you ran down my street
at the first sign.
- the first sign?
- that i wasn't ready to let you go.
not like that.
i'm standing here cold, and wet.
just to tell you...
at the part where
i take you in my arms
my head fails
to my dismay.
and all the writing in the world
won't make your image stay.