gloom again
at the knife-edge
of freezing,
when
even the rain
is starting to rain—
and where
even the shadows
will not follow
where you're walking—
the usual tingle
at the base
of your neck
feels less like
the shiver
you remember from before
and more like
the potent
that, despite your
nonacceptance—and
to your grim displeasure—
somewhere far
away from here
right now, you're
being prayed for.
