and when the sun lingers on the snow

and the moon instates itself over the dark horizon;

when the trees reach, grasping; when the wind curls in on itself, pleading 

Hey. So, it’s me. Like always. Also, it’s 12:30. I’m sure you’ll remember that, like always, I would love to be able to sleep. Maybe you’ll just give me another hour or two? See, I had things to do. Poetry. A portfolio.