Whether

I conjure up the snow and let it breathe
A clear cold calm that exits me with it.
It seems determined that its flakes should wreath
The heart in contemplation, yet I sit
Centering the snowdrift and at war
Within myself, shocked that the heat I spew
Does not melt me free. I let it pour
In massive piles above me, out of view,
Hoping the white itself can make me pure,
Fearing at last that nothing can resolve
The warmth inside that makes me insecure
'Til I, unlike the snowflakes, can dissolve
Into the world at large, and ease my pain;
If only I could conjure up the rain.