the plot of the winding river
ends with winter,
as does the path that skirts beside it

in my porous mind
find the annals
in my thick fists
the cold storage

hard not to think of last year
but why stop there?

a simple rubbing
of my sheets
would flush my youth
and meet your needs

i found a release
in just leaving the house
it was a relief
to leave anywhere

wasn’t much different
than closing my eyes
in the morning,
inside

the hidden light
would reveal a figure
worth saving

your mission
should you choose to accept it

shine