Sometimes, in the dark, a feeling of lightness; as though the storms, all too frequent, are clearing the way. When the drama is done, the stage is stripped bare. Made ready. An idea. Better still, a void. A calm of immeasurable, unconquerable enormity. To which you have held open the door. With your frightened grip.

Throw up walls to contain me. In the dark I will pass right through them, unseen. Set your traps to trip me. In the morning you will find me elusive.

From your watch, I vanish now. Through the glowering fog you bring down, knife-like into the heart of your freeze and, from there, into the quiet sanctuary of nakedness. Stripped of all your signs. Winter setting the scene for spring.

Waste not a single breath on goodbye.