 |
| Paisleyed with frost |
When the furnace awoke me
it was early November
but late in my life,
and lost in the dark,
I needed to steady myself.
This was the window,
Paisleyed with frost,
and that was the night,
Jupiter leering
in the black woods.
This was Pandora,
streaming New Age,
but the box
had been opened
long ago.
And that was my hand,
holding the pen,
touching no one.
