air turns to fire in the cold

The air burns where I sleep;you trudge in almost-snow.The resetting of alarm clockslet the wind slipthrough your dreamcatcher.And my sunset is allthe colours of your fall.I write a poem;you will awaken six hoursand countless miles laterin the coldwhile I burn.The ink lies betweenthe segments of the universe;unreachable,incomprehensiblein the firewhile you shiver.What is it to misssomeone?I try I donot know. Artwork by Claude Monet, "Haystacks (Effect of Snow and Sun)"