what have i become?
this place feels familiar –
sights, sounds, sensations
like softness of blankets,
wrapped in cocoons in
woodland winters
lying on snow-ground
ice crusted on my nose –
who knows when the
savior will appear?
burning bright white
calling me home
i’ve yearned for it & can
taste it on my frozen tongue
(Photo by Aleksander Pedosk on Unsplash)
