Eventual Conclusions

Maybe nothing. In cautious choices. Arriving like blizzards. Leaving us much the same. Alone in our houses. Digging tunnels in the ice. Searching for that imaginary door. That lets us out. And keeps them in.

She woke me up. In the middle of the storm. Rogue adjectives struggle against the flow of the wind. Matchsticks in the breeze. Campfires in the ocean. The light only imagines we can see it. The flame reminisces about how hot.

It's nothing. Pompous parades trundling through the streets of the heart. My pistol on my hip. All my ammunition misplaced. It's only spaces. Pockets in time meant for the strangers in our skin.

Working the caution as well as any doll. Content with any dress that fits. The curtain falls too soon. But the audience remains.

The cat is poisoned, but only if I look inside the box.