My skull is clouded, mute. My eyes can’t penetrate the storm of fog. I wake at night with brain burning–not red fire, but an uncomfortably warm, rough, choking smoke. There seems to be no ending; the black and white video merges into exaggerations of grey. All maneuvers lead back into themselves. I am ill with unease.
Trees stand leafless, calm.
Earth is soaked in melting snow–
awash in waiting.