After days of sweat and seeking grace,
I’m back to a place where the coldest winter nests.
Snowflakes fall through the ceiling onto my eyes.
Stairs, petrified by the frost of silence.
At the tip of my ear, I hear the dining table crack its hatch—
the way the lake groans to be dived.
And the fence rusts whenever warmth fades,
while I lay on my bed and the aurora crawls through my head,
cast a shadow—does it all need to be fixed?