Winter Waves, Ice World

I’m finally full of all those things. Bold numbness that I take pride in, rattling both my hands. I’m my own companion, whispering “someday” in the night. As I drift along your wet hillside, I hear the dogs and the rifles and I want to run. But there’s no continent without time. I’m the gutter and the aching cheap smile, wishing for a more tender history. How I work the ghosts in me, shout at them to slide me through the missile tube. Point me at that moving shadow, those drowning eyes.