after the too early
October snow bending
trees to splitting
after I wrapped
in blackness
alone, no lights
no hot water
your voice, a
light on the radio
batteries are losing
whatever they had
after phones stopped
then started, without
your voice, your voice
in my room, rivers
in my dream
melting as my 
thighs would in
your blue bed as
long as November
stayed swollen with
light until in
hours it would be
come a bell with
its tongue cut out