Clasping Two Small Whites

Stepping outside the tent,
Clasping tight, in closed fist.
Crunching through the snow,
And the sun. A lens flare

Glazes his eyes,
As two small whites
Slide down, slowly absorbing
The world, grows

More white, and the sky
Blazes blue, water rippling,
Endears itself to him;
And he slides under the surface

Undulating slowly, sinking down
And the cold enters his veins...
And he is flying...
Towards the darkness...
And becomes part of blue.