the early winter horizon,
birds I'll never know flicker
in the thicket just beyond my seat
by the frosted window. The slick disguise
I've committed to
over these months slips
for a moment, my facade sliding
like a tear down a loved one’s cheek.
upward, shake loose the fabric
folds I've wrapped round the tellings.
The echoes shift aside the icy mist
that scours the sun. An orange cat perches
on the upholstered arm of my favourite chair.