he wasn't moving, he hadn't moved for some time
his comrade froze beside the lifeless body, this was
a time he had put beyond his reach, like glass that
separated worlds, different airs swirled their dinners
of nutrients inside and out, realms, stroking both
sides of a window cutting in half what once lay bare,
upon springs upon autumns, a grease of steps to a
smuggler's lair, to a baron's seat, realms, on a
roundabout turning through a comrade's eye, yet
this time had come, the comrade knew, a coldness
spread, their bodies, in time, dug from the snow
as children played a thousand miles away, he and
his young comrade, two boys again, beyond reach