Days lay down

disconnected                 from                 one                   another 
shuffled cards.
No storyline or heroine
here in February.


All meaning less and less.
Don’t know if it’s accumulation –

heavy five month pile –

dense, diminished days, diluted 
light, warmth,
that leached out of my marrows

in time with the sky.
I’m

parchment dry,
brittle paper doll,
bloodless because sunless,
shriveled spirit,  

desiccated and dull sadness

Pinch me – I’ll crumble like ash.

Fragile now, at last
mental agility evaporates,
no thing matters.
These past two plodding weeks
I trudged through existing, 
hung over from darkness,

dehydrated, dilluminated,
mind on withered limbs limping
this interim marathon,

28 days,

between snow and spring.

 

H.D.

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