Immaculate

My throat is tight from the
Snickering cold wind that waltzes
around us
In spite, we push against its
Wingtipped shoes and cherry blossom corsages
freckled grass and tan oak trees are humming along
to this icy orchestration
Are we the only ones who hear the syncopation
of a thousand curling cumuli
or a million bursting moons?
This deafening lull is what binds our
quivering legs and willowed arms to these silent screams


...We cry


And yet only I...