The wind is so loud
I can see it.
It lunges at me.
My lips are cold
they no longer hold
the shape of words.
It is clear
I will die here.
A scream
a clawing regret
echoes
in the valley.
The hail
slaps me
and snow crawls
up my legs.
It has been hours.
Or days.
I want to fight
but I am invisible.
There is no enemy.
No battle.
This is how storms love you:
they smother you
in an embrace
of ice.