a layer of snow stills sound.
but the darkness,
night itself
draws out panic,
blood from a wound;
its rising tidal bore
threatens to submerge all;
entranced I watch it swell
far into the night
mad-morbid curiosity
to see how far it will rise;
deeper into darkness
terror-mad but paralyzed
by the swelling weight of it
the tide that cannot float me,
the pressing bulk—
all in quiet,
deeper into quiet