Just piano and voice. Piano and your voice. Practice,

The big meal. Inductions to other habits of yours —

Just because we’re surly, externalizing ideas.

A gleaming haze drags cloud sculptures of needle-felted wool

Like nerves warmed over by spinning in freezing wind.

Not yet. I don’t forget the scent of snow and sunlight, of your utter loss
— of whatnot in over the counter after-loss and scent, yours.