Winter won’t release its foothold, its acceleration pedal of snow/ice/Artic cold. Some are beholden; others bow their heads & say “it hurts, all this.”

Things didn’t go as planned on micro- and macro- scales. The scales, one hopes, will fall from eyes tired of not seeing Everything Here or seeing Everything-Not-Here.

I mean to be clear but somehow cannot. The House is a complete mess & no will/energy to re-find places for things, recreate some sense of stability amidst the shifting planes inside.

If I bare all of it in the firelight as recommended, if I tell the others, if I pretend the plans were all meant to go awry, will winter settle me until the not-so-faraway snow-drops & crocuses, the inch-worm green of unfurling leaves?

The eyes can be frozen in the winter landscape with a lucidity that one does not always want. I have watched enough bad TV for a decade.

But tonight I shall not let sleep and her often-sadness of unending, troubling dreams take me. So that stanzas, sentences, chapters & pages can find me–a bit sure for a while.


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