collision.

I am clumsy in this cold
too layered to notice
when I brush
or touch
or- shove
against you
another bundled thing
drifting on my periphery
and it is too cold to turn my eyes
to look directly at you
or anything.
The wind acts the playground brute
drawing tears without a sound
and the ice forms quicker
than the salt may break it.
Now looking back
fingers thawed and eyes dried
I apologize.
It was my fault entirely.