Refuge

Jill Osier

I’ll tell you this: I am the only part of winter left.

It beckoned and I followed, past all reason,

followed it like the end of a broken train

through white woods, and I stayed, with simple tools,

set on trying to construct more of a season. It has taken

all of me to do it, and you would not believe the storms.

You would not believe how I sleep. From here anything

would sound like a cry. Everything looks like pieces of God.