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toward hibernation
out of her drawer hangs
the waistband of faded jeans
alive in the furnace’s heat;
heels of slippers crawl from under the bed;
an old sweatshirt is their legless body.
her soft snore is really the pillow returning dreams.
perfect birthplace of a morning
still dark with night and the uncolor of warm sleep.
i leave this
for work,
fresh and new
as spring
dipping its toes
into winter’s water.
i flick on the headlights,
i start the dull ache,
i cringe through an audible swallow,
blinking through shivers
that erupt from my bones,
and look into
the insanity
of the drooling day.