Snowflakes pull their punches landing
On my face much as cats do, with
Stockinged feet and kind concern.
I keep close watch on my dreams
Allowing only two to grow in free-flow.
When circumstances threaten I
Self-abort the first dream —
Safely keeping just the second —
The second dream of return.
Must I accept my sentence,
This slow sentience, this
Awful partial awakening?
Must I always say grace
Before drinking from
The cup of sorrow?