Photogram

In the center of it all,

An idea,
Simple, pure perfect to hold in my mind,
Then, you started talking,
Pulling word after word after
word,
Across my mind-scape
The simple truth of my idea rattled,
Then Splintered,
Icy cracks of winter leaves
Spreading outwards
Carrying my idea away like so many
Warm breaths on a winter day.