These fifty-two poems arrived more or less intact over the course of the late fall, winter and early spring months, as the island transformed, and I observed how life's changes affected me. Many of these tiny, seventeen syllable poems went through dozens of iterations, while others changed not at all from their first incarnation. Each one of them is like a single breath cast against a cold windowpane. As you read them, I invite you to write your initials on the ones that speak to you and watch them fade away.