Long Cold Night

Shadows splinter unseen. An ice storm grinds down nightmares into black and white chips. Morning comes as a frozen lamb, as toothpaste frothing over a startled mirror, as a yeti caught on a trail camara. "Did you hear the ice last night?" Her lips are still dreaming. She turns to the frost painted window. The kettle is whistling pushing steam into our nocturnal shivers.