we fell into unwilling hibernation that early spring. trees hadn't yet bud their impertinent blooms into the brooding ides of march. life, oblivious, hadn't yet paid its room and board for an early november check-in. sealed in and slumbering, breathing was made unprecious, mattering dematerialized us, numbness overwhelmed our stored selves. thoughtless meltwater loosened, dissolved, and removed the natural paths between us. and staying in the back of our caves, surrounded by scant reserves, we never considered what wintering through another season's cycle might mean.
the doors stand neatly nesting resting sleeping keeping time with echoes of the last bell. the halls to walls and ceilings look down on rarely scuffed floors as well. flow has slowed and the body bends low and sleeps restlessly- an empty shell.
eat cake with bare hands use up a marker in one sitting run out of gas close to home sail a paper boat into a storm drain stand firmly on cracking river ice find the source of cicada sounds in summer