Oslo 1888

the snow built up around the smokehouse.
the sun shone on the snow.
and the sun's rays were blistering against my eyes.
the long night was well on its way
so i made good use of what was left of the daylight
walking out toward the main street
and coming back home again.
sleeping, i sang a short song about you.
and i knew every word of that song was true.
well, almost every word.
ice froze the green stems of the daffodils
ice formed carrots on my window sill.
i was blistering, blazing away.
and it had always been my tendency to let things slide,
but i went to the window with my eyes open wide.
and you were taking on perspective,
coming to ward the door.
you want some more?
i've got some more for you.
i've got just what you're looking for.