Feet pontificating over

the last puddle,

the one that has to be left.

All she wishes really to do

is curl up and remain.

Times, recently, so many,

where she has barely managed to

contain the weary tears,

never before had the energy been used,

like that.

High on life, apparently.

Nothing else, just busy delirium.

The happy bustle,

excelling her, and itself.

Overwhelming love

combine with tired bones …

and she collapses,

a doll in the icy wonderland,

waiting for the kiss

that moves her

into herself.