I remember discussion that;

the differential betwixt polar cold

and the rest of us,

our weathered days,

is sliding to diffusion.

Thus we rest and stop.

I hold not back, recollection,

of a handheld rock,

crushing selected petal, leaf and stem.

To bleed, our beautiful vision.

Imprinted on cotton,

clootie ready triangles.

My ear turned, 

around and above the choral troupe

and she whispered, that's a mouse.

I concurred with 

a knowing smile,

enlightened, for her and me.