i found comfort in the gravity of winter. fall down, fall down, bowed down and under bowing branches who bowed to banshees shaken loose from wind—

but i left the ghosts behind,
and

i sunk into myself with a pallet knife and petal-paints to choose from. i learned to drink from my own veins and be cold and be alone and stand quietly with private wounds and private words. i slept in snow and spoke the languages of ancient trees and

in one moment i found peace and fell asleep
somewhere i’d find myself again

.