White, white all around
stagnant in the sky
and condensed on the ground
Where cold particles eat the horizon
stinging my face
and melting away the warmth as I stand here
staring at a frame
thinking about the tropical days
that have come to pass
About the husky smell of purple orchids
growing from the rotting compost
and the glitchy reverberation of birds
chirping and squawking for food and company
About the plethora of bright green, blue, and red
clustered with orange, pink, and yellow
and the fresh droplets of sunlight, damp with moisture
from frigid monsoons
But most of all I think about
the days and nights vacationing
with my family
leading a normal life
Tears trickle down my cheeks
leaving behind a trail of icicles
as I remember those who have have died in the white
and those who might still be alive
as lost as I am
The only reminder I have from those days
is a crudely constructed frame that I made from
the fuselage caught in the foliage
