Trapped In Snowflakes

White bondage.
The crystalline surround.
Descending in the chilled air.
How did I get here?
How did my consciousness become one with
the gliding and blowing mass of white particles?
Will my consciousness depart from this jostling throng?
I thought spring was here, and I thought I was secure under
the undulating covers, but now I don’t know what to think.
Trees are watching me like implacable sentinels.
Cars are racing by.
The streets are catching fragments of my being with
cold, concrete hands.
Other parts of me are still aerial.
Will the enigmatic tug of the wind take
me further away from my slumbering body?
Or will enough fragments of my transported self
fall near the windowsill that looks in upon my snoring
form?
I can only trust the wind now.
That and the whimsy of fate.