Flooding the Field

Returning home:
Two girls running
to stay warm.
The tall one tears
through the veil,
scattering syllables
to the clear air
like pine needles
in the frigid wind.
Tell her we're almost there,
she tells me,
flailing her arm
at her friend behind her,
out of breath.
Tell her we'll be at the bar soon,
and warm.
I tried projecting
my voice, channeling
all of the pitter-patter
of my mental processes
into the right kind of response,
the certain type of certain.
I said to the girls
and would advise again
to any stranger in winter,
Breathing makes you warmer.