Breathy words that melt the ice
whispered with tears
and then she falls through
his name a memory on her lips.
And then, nothing.

And gray, gray, gray,
washed in fog
and finalised by  ice winds.
She has earned the blade-
she has received her dignity.
By falling have they realised this.
No words spoken 
from the living to the living
only from the living to the dead.
He reaches down,
kisses the memory of his name,
and, not giving like the others,
but taking instead,
slices a lock of raven hair
and begs forgiveness.
But the ice takes her under
where she is frozen in time
and can hear no more.

He is cut, torn from himself,
lost.
He can no longer speak,
and forgets his own name.
Not much left to remember.
No one worth talking to anymore.