Cold is a hard style.
It strikes in straight lines.
It lifts the roof tile.
Cold is a hard style.
Adieu the rondeau.
Let’s interrupt
your straight-line, pseudo-circular flow
by playing possum.
Instructions for making a blanket cave—
So heavy
nothing untucks.
Tunnel in.
Nose over tail.
Stay lit.
Do not hibernate.
No corpsing.
We are animal to cold
in unexciting ways,
life-forms footnoting a stockpile,
camelids getting their good coats
for winter’s interview
in revoluted layers
bounce potential
out of view.
Cold aims without fail,
counts loss as gains.
Cold is a hard style.
It strikes in straight lines.