"good mourning"

This morning everything was warm because
the frigid sighs of northern ice caps were finished
with their annual dirge marking the end of a year;

but somehow the signals got tangled on their way
to the center of the bristling forest that encroaches
that accosts me on all sides

because it's so cold that my hands are bleeding,
and the cracks in my skin are terrifying,
and I think they're wonderful,

even though I shouldn't.
Across the cracks lies a bridge,
a blue music note that is just now fading.

I was supposed to remember something.
I guess it slipped through the cracks
on my way out the door this mild morning.