midnight, lake’s cool edge. hands in wool coat pockets. you left the party
again. silvered waves reflected in scratched lenses. the cruel distant echo
of music or laughter or neither. the deadly patience of each tide pulling winter
closer and closer like a single tug on the rope. beyond the shivering swells, look up &
wind’s salt tongue wets your eyes like some eager animal. scream up at stars
like they need it to continue. be angry with the world & how every year
it wants to die all over again. when you are alone, winter comes like a silence
that steals a mind, but it’s better to seek asylum in something that cannot end
with a song that you hate. think of how often the leaves show their rot
yet do not fall until they have to. think of pouring your drink into the folding
sea & this is how you want to manifest, you know it because it begins
by calling these kinds of dreams manifestations. it all ends somewhere but focus
on your mind’s sky & what it promises:

here cold is doing
it’s dark work, first bits of sun
hidden within stars.