As winter's cruel late
floods each poorly curtained window,
dims the kitchen—a gradual void
pace, and direction
with not even your
own distinct shadow.
This must be how planets come together.
This is your cue
to simplify feeling,
and wrap your core up tight in their patinas.
You have layers now. You're still you—but
Gradually you are moved
to boil water,
to light imaginary cosmic cigarettes
straight off the finicky gas burner,
to start practicing
reorientations toward perfection.