Unformed.

Simple things.
A smile; clean and crafted -
light voice slipping through
clear teeth.

Delicate photographs
of radiant girls;
carelessness on their lips.
Of blank snow,
white across the frame
and no more.

Hair, for once
tamed,
under a light of pure placidity;
and the brown will seem
a shade lighter.

A room, with adventure
carved in the walls.
A map, photographs,
books buried beneath half-made things.

Warmth of a winter knit,
indifferent to minds
that talk.
Smooth words that roll over
a smooth tongue.

Discomfort wants
the company of a world
too cold to care.