Last night, awake for days, the world became painfully immediate. Small changes like a footprint on snow seemed monolithic. Moving through moments meant leaving one for another, and that brought on near sexual agony.
Pulling the trigger on a plastic gun, I shuddered with the imagined explosion
very near then and important
were your folded hands
and their movements.
tomorrow was too distant
I ate a small ball of snow like an apple
I flickered like a candle
And wished I had a different bravery.