Shivering again in the dark,
I knew. I planned, even there–my body
sick as it was–tensile as ice forming
on some January swamp:
half muck/
half network
of delicate threads threatening
to break and messily reform again
under some pressure.

So I willed, this time,
to collect it all into a plastic bag.
Kept it between my legs the entire time.
Willed the energy up once more
to pack it all away.