Too cold to sleep,
alone, waiting to be warmed.

Time moves so slowly it
catches itself, then stops

a curling ribbon of all these nights
before critical eternity.

Backwards I watch myself
alone with the rain falling in.

Drowning rivulets of opened sky
as I am.

Children sleep, out beyond this small
enclosure a grey domed sky,

there is no sentiment, nothing at all
except, time: twisting itself to laugh.

Speeded up skin flakes to dust. No change.
Quiet with cold’s fingers tangled in my hair.

I leave my mind alone to spin back upon
times cross, I slowly move beyond .

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