The wind cut in

The wind cut in,

a thin blade,

right through the coat's seam

where the fabric gave.

Forgot the scarf again.

It bites that spot,

a small ridge of bone,

stark white against the skin,

bare and alone.

A cold ache blooms,

deep inside the muscle,

like something shrinking,

pulling in.

It makes me hunch,

this sudden, exposed truth.

Just a piece of me,

too close to the surface,

too ready to break

in the raw, gray air.