Epiphanie © Etienne Cabran


It’s here.

Too near.

A mist of white.

A sigh of night.

Through the window.

“You friend or foe?”

A cold touch of ice.

Doesn’t feel too nice.

It now whispers away,

“You’re not welcome to stay.”

I’m leaving now.

I don’t care how.

Fingers wrap around my neck.

On my cheek I feel a peck.

Could that be a kiss?

Wasn’t hard to miss.

I’m chilled to the bone.

I’ve turned to cold stone.