a rusted train carrying frozen bulbs

throughout the night
dreaming of
flowers blooming
beneath the ice
waking only
to smell the pollen
floating in my mind
tossing and turning
unable to find
a moment of rest
numb fingers
from digging deeper
trying to bring
the blossoms out
of the inescapable
tortured hellscape of ice
to thrive in the light
where they belong

for all the answers
found in pools of
it is the things
lost in the long night
that leave me hollow
unable to write
as the tracks switch
bringing the listless
train of thought
back for another loop
in gradually shrinking
concentric circles of
increasing sorrow

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