The winters in North Carolina are bitter and cold.
I can’t move my hands. They are frostbitten,
Like shards of glass,
Moving in front of my face.
The sound of a dog howls outside,
Bitter and lonely,
Its eyes like two lantern flames.
I am whole within myself,
Whole within the…something.
I am movement, stiller than life,
Stiller than autumn leaves.
October comes swiftly,
Swift on its wings.