We all carry sorrows mountains of snow — gliding, rifting, rising at a head well-heated, by a furnace hose. as the journey goes, we pass along not a legacy, not a truth, but a backstabbing wound to those who dare love us. rationalized in nuanced, thoughtless loops: "why would you?" "you're too good to be true." "before you go, I dispose of you." all excuses knit with winter's shawl by the time we’re drenched, and summer’s unapologetically youthful, we will be drowning in newly wed rivers a consummatory view, estuary beds of green deltas and there goes off a fuse. the timer hits 7 minutes to go the hearts we played, the minds we boggled, the souls we wrenched, the depths we hollowed. all come at play forging the wrinkled eyebrows, some salt is due. how well spent the life could’ve been "if I were wronged, if I were you." the fishes align like a constellation of night, but I’m a mere consolation prize. the guilt engulfs my lungs, but water poisons me, traps my throat from what it loves in scorching heat. I forget how to swim. I know not how to patiently drown. I have certainly lost the six minutes, and the seventh is yet to announce.k