winter stupor.

Last night, you were in my dream -
Still as death and asleep on the cold floor of a strange, empty room.
It seemed to drop in temperature with each second passing.

I tried shake you awake.
Your body only moved back and forth, unresponsive, as if in protest.
A terrible suspicion settled inside of me,
like drinking from an icy glass,
that I had come too late.

I stayed near to you still,
rubbing warmth into your fingers,
breathing life into your lungs
that you didn't seem able to take.
Here I remained,
calling a name you wouldn't answer to,
struggling to find you
until my breath turned to ghosts in the air.

Where had you gone to?  Why do I feel as though I've made a mistake?