Paul hollowed his breath.
It felt like a cold foreclosure.
It was winter inside him.
There was no discontent.
There was snow.
There were sheltered places.
Paul took news out of context.
Out of thin air.
Out of turn at the turnstile.
He sharply exhaled snow.
It was all that was in there to go out.
It was cold white sparks.
Paul looked up into the infinite.
Snow fell from on high.
He inhaled deeply.
copyright © 2023 Kenneth P. Gurney
Umflop 
That’s a beautiful poem, May be it tells about someone who came in Paul’s life then it discomforted him, so sharply he left that person 😇😇
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