Until Morning

A hundred good reasons
to wish for winter

so it comes

and you’ll forgo salt, sand and the
blisstouched skin
to pull yourself through another night
clung to your
never agains and
never happeneds

the pelt still warm and the fur
smelling of blood

there’s scant heat left
in the fire


stick figures, you know who they are,
dance closer
so that when the wind dies a little
you can hear their chopstick chatter

and the question you ask is
will the fire hold until morning?

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