Ice crystals forming on them already,
My naked hands sweep, then scoop, the snow away,
Searching for... something.
Something that can not bear contemplation,
For I would have turned away had I though of it.
The numbness keeps me from feeling the laceration,
And I watch a trickle of blood freeze instantly on my finger.
Digging a bit more, I retrieve the offending object:
Like a curved piece of broken glass, it feels smooth
Yet simultaneously abrasive.
The ice that clings thickly upon it
Reflects no light.
Others, brethren to the shard, lie scattered
Viewing most of these pieces, I then replace
What I had disturbed, and
Carefully sweep the snow back into place.
An image of what they had comprised forms in my mind:
The shards mentally assemble into a heart.
I press my palms to my empty, lifeless chest;
And a sob escapes me,
But my eyes are too frozen to cry.