It’s been winter all week.
The cold burning the tender edges back to chaff.
The hard closing the blinds.
Tongue tied, rope burned, snaggle tooth, hoarfrost.

Every day I put my brave face on. 
There is damp in the chin from the leak in my breath.
The coin-slot mouth catches my tongue.

I meant to tell you how the mirror withheld evidence
and the door was a hostile witness
and the shadow of my hand across the table
pled the fifth.

But it doesn’t matter.
It’s been winter in here all week.