some daily language

I was not timid
to look through the glass pane

to this other cold crisp air side.
It is very cold and blue in Kuwait.

So many of us hope in the cold wind
that wips our cheeks red for a year
that nothing may pass in
with us but our own vision:

not the long dullness,
not an uncertain voice again,
not the faltering instead
of just

loving. It always seems
like it was supposed to be simple.