Right Twice A Day

Frozen

like the earth

under thirty-two inches

of snowfall and all

I have to do

is prove I'm alive

so someone can find me.

It's not impossibly

deep, but without humanly

stirrings, I'm merely

a preserving

of what has been

rather than a dedication

to the future.

I promised her

we would chase dreams

who were the only

companions during lonely

hours in the library

when no one came

to read and we

were lost among the

stories of others.

Frozen

like time

on a clock whose

battery has died

and is only right

twice a day.

Dysfunction

has never felt

as unbearable as when

it betrays passion.

Rooted for so long,

clothed in moss, movement

feels wrong because

I don't understand

if it's safe to stray

from apathy.

Frozen

like a lake, stagnant

yet abundant

with evidence

of life.