Shadows cast across the bed
Trees--poplar, oak, willow
It didn't matter what

She sloughed off the bark
Filled her hands with splinters

It was winter and nothing was moving

Ice on the pond
And on the windows
A bit of rusted wire
Shiny with frost and blood

The quietest quiet ever
Arrived and overstayed
Its welcome

Mornings full of dread
Nights full of worry
Afternoons stretched
Into shallow distraction

The rain was pure and brittle
The wind a moving white wall
Even the shadows
Failed to yield anything of interest

There was something at the doorstep
Something pelting the roof
Or scraping against the window
It didn't matter what

Soon it too would disappear
Soon buried
With the bark and wire and blood
And the used-to-be warmth
Now huddled in some darkened corner

She wished she could remember where.