Cabin in the snow

Cabin swallowed beneath the bright world of snow crackling heavy breathing
Singing clinging embracing
Through a mirror clouding a sight buried in bright grass under feet of powder
Birch songs
groaning brushing painting a shag carpet to rub our feet into
How the ice holds up the snow and the water up the ice
In a block somewhere we can all meet
You'll knock and the wind will howl the door open to stillness
Never to return

What lives behind darkness but the effervescent desire? For the light in our flag misses the corners and in those interstices things grow, bleached and sickening. Whispering. Chanting. The only cave that can truly be lit up is assembled from red mud and sticks, and what kind of matinee is that?

This is special. Lights on tree with frogs and stars behind illuminating a quilt draped over the skeleton of a tree, drying. Movement behind observer and grass giving grants. Pinholes to wishupon and dragons to be afraid of. Ghosts down the middle of suburban streets observed by one. We fly because we take ourselves lightly.