And it was morning in winter’s waiting room.
Dr. Frost entered in a wake of ice crystals,
She held my hand; it wizened and fell off.
Her eyes, frozen lakes and I died.
The ambulance’s mortal crew revived me,
Stopped at the nearest inn, where they gave me
Black coffee and freshly baked croissants.
Naked I walked back home and every lash from
Driving snow reminded me of how sweet life is.