Diagnostics
Snow blindness
from the incantations
of sterile skin
& results.
Water stoops
for diagnosis
like the cellophane
around the bunched
flowers of my autumn.
The boiler is lit.
My heart again
is indigestible.
I cannot cut myself
from facts.
It is cold &
the trees are all dying,
their bark
soft & black
as rotten meat.
If you are alive
one year from today
I will ring brass bells
& do something dramatic,
like drink a glass
of water. 
Diagnostics
To Contain
To Sustain Distress
Winter Stars