Fewer than four hours sleep, greater than four inches snow.
Something here is unbalanced, and I think it might be me.
No one could guess that last night was a full moon;
the blanket over her face was thicker than the one over mine.
I hope she kept warm. I didn't.
In the wake of lunacy we tend to wake up early:
the cats, the dogs, the rat, my mother, me.

Winter is no time to shed my skin.
I should stay in my cocoon forever, wrapped in red and white.
At least it's quiet there.
I'll pupate when the snow stops falling constantly.