Burrow yourself, but not too deep,

your own hands will not absorb you tonight.

Let fire purr you to sleep once more

you know your own impermanence but

revel

in your momentary warmth –

not of infernos or clothing

but belief.

Stand beside that door which hangs in air.

Be the one who knocks (should you wish to enter)

and do so at your own time.

All the same

sit, weep like an infant missing his pacifier

let your boots meet earth – intervened by wood, of course, –

and remember that feeling of footing

when you enter those gates,

because you will miss this reality.

---

Appears in Issue 2, 2022 of Inkspot Zine