This slope broken loose
cracks the way all ice
rises from a single stone

though below the tree line
just her grave
already has a twin

–two mouths, easy to spot
not yet the mountain range
she would sip if it was water

could leave the hollow
the underbrush, mouthful
over mouthful, talk

sit across from you
while her words no longer move
are in the way and colder.

*
What you still carry to bed
is this water coming from a well
icing over, masks your cheeks
and though there’s no pillow
it’s your mouth that’s melting
filling the hole where she used to sleep
–in such a darkness say what you want
this sheet took the white from your eyes
that look at nothing but walls
–you are washing your face with a room
emptied out to freeze her half
where there are no mornings