bare bones

Empty time, empty time, silence, a thousand tiny lights.

All I really have to do is try to keep warm. Cuddle vest, chenille sweater, soft jacket, down jacket. Long johns, corduroys, socks one, socks two. And still my feet are cold.

I retrieved my poetry manuscript from the shuffle of late December. It was intolerably wordy.

I made radical cuts. Now it’s something completely different. I don’t even know what it is. Or whether I like it.

Shards of light or ice or glass. Careful handling, may extinguish, melt or pierce.