cycling through moods as control turns myth 
and now is wintered under crusts of salt 
and everything effort is ice, to wake, shower,
taking pills, applying ointments. 

to call, to write, to compose a thought,
to change strings, to finish a tune.

half a shrug and a swallowed sigh
overcast eyes and pillowed ears
mind lost in a can of paint

the sound is of wind and ice creaking
and a rattle in the lungs of perseverance.