You press your palm against the glass of a frozen lake
The cells in your hand begin to contract like they are squeezing blood from a stone
The nerves surge numbness up the spine
This is how it feels to feel, compression of data in the brain, blood resisting the urge to solidify
By you, I mean me, alone on the lake The ice a conduit to connect the surface tension between a human hand and God if there is such a thing
How much of this can I take before the gloves go back on
Can I leave my hand behind to permanently feel this fleeting form for you to find centuries from now? Will you hold it and feel heat?
Do you know the cold of molecules slowing to absolute zero or the beam of a star lightyears away exciting every particle of your body? When I lay hands on the ice I am reminded of this cool abyss and the warmth that pushes back