returning

seagull's a sharp contrast against the grey dismal sky
with a sunset orange snack in its pointed beak
i watch it fly and i lock up inside
with my nose and eyes pointed to the sky
the cold freezes my jaw but so does the scene
and orange giants wheeze by so close
that i can sense them without sight.
they're almost touchable.

the branching spines look like palm trees
but how could they, so covered in snow?
an oxymoronic, hysterical sight
the snow clods thud to the earth
gracious to gravity
and you giggle.

the air is warmer with snow on the ground
and you wonder how
must be precipitation in the atmosphere
fornicating insulation.

everything seemed complicated after that day
but perhaps i just finally opened my eyes

i'm unsure if i can do this
but i know i can still speak:
he is a little intricate diamond
and my eye catches his light always.
the other pillar, so physical
i shy away, i am ruined for this.