Frosting On The Field

Our breath, mingling, clouding

hiding in the mist that covers the mud

Hold on a little longer

It's not that bad

…Really…

Even my voice is a wound

Wearing your country

Medals over your heart and

through your skin

Just keep crawling

This murky womb is warm against my

elbows, folded and flat

Digging in

Until breath is still and the frost

melts