Am at  the withered edges

of a journey.

At the end of a trail

flogged by snow,

I watch the sun stand still

in a jacket of clouds

Grey and dark.

Beyond the hills and 

a thousand horizons away

lie

my memories of you 

a stagnant swamp

 of pain.

But,

I have grown wings, 

wide ones, today

Each glinting in gold.

I chose over my hallucinations

a sane part of myself 

and 

as I catch snow

in my gloved hands

I wonder

How trivial is love at all

in this world.