The Frost Bitten Feather Down

I woke up in the middle of the night,

or the beginning of the morning,

however it is that you look at it---

My left hand was freezing cold,

and I had the distinct feeling that it died a short while back,

maybe a few hours ago

I had always been of the belief that parts of us could get broken,

without breaking down

We were supposed to be resilient,

not paranoid,

optimistic,

not morose,

But maybe despair is born of consequence instead of coincidence,

as often it is accredited to

I didn't know much,

but I knew it was very, very cold on the left,

and that I was likely,

very likely,

in the right----

If there is a corner, I thought,

then there was a turn to be made---