Before my mind reaches that
state of pure dreamland
I imagine snowy peaks.
The blood rushing through my ears,
the wind in my hair and the coolness
of my sheets; the gaining frost against my toes.

I listen for the falling of flakes
crispen and almost silent through
measured breath above my duvet.

My head pokes from
the pit I’ve dug for myself and as I slowly
descend I feel the cooling rush of
pressure against my neck, spitting, I gain
my bearings. I’m upside down.
Snowed in with power and reports
and lights outside seem brighter,
LED interrupting the edge of the glacier.

Quickening my rush, I notice wolves,
gliding, fleas against white fur
momentarily hidden behind undecorated conifers.

Swiftly moving, dragging me with them until
day breaks and I find myself, warm and alone
camping before another glacial night.


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