what we call winter

lover, what is winter

if not a hemorrhaging,

a wet supercut of all the ways

i’ve placed my body in these rooms,

inchworming over positions each hour,

coffee still smoking, showerhead

still dripping. forwards & backwards,

my life looks the same. did you know

in videogames, mirrors rarely render

reflections? it’s so much work to reshine

each surface. it’s a miracle to see yourself

in the screen. i’m saying (god permitting)

winter was easier to build

than spring. less rainy

opportunities to see ourselves puddling,

less breakthrough. but we suffer past it

every time. (god permitting) i believe in

our abilities to name things,

plants particularly. the imagination

in milk thistle—how it demands

the respect of cream without

ever softening. so we’ll rename

winter, call it a fat rest.