Sunday, February 15

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sunday, february 15, ca. 255 kelvin

coming home in
bonebiting cold and
my hands are shaking from the chill
gripping the wheel, my whole body is still tense
long after something like rage has burnt itself out
the knowledge of evil is a taste of ashes in my mouth,
and a universe indifferent the bank sign flashing 0 degrees

when i get in, the smell of chicken and potatoes
from the pot downstairs fills the hallway
jae is awake, grafting little wire and moss
trees to landscaping models

there are the sounds of early morning
that quality to voices and movements,
coats rustling in the predawn stillness
the sense of dark seeping back out of the world soon

but not yet
and i will sleep before it is gone.