You could smell the cold
through the closed door–
outside daythick and steamheat–
all stillness and need outside.

Two daddy long-legs succor
the cool, moist air from the door jamb
of my apartment,
their prehistoric bodies
also found in Scottish rock
from over four hundred million years ago,
and right here, too,
the alien wires of their many legs
and heads like spent erasers–

I resist my urge to crumple
their delicate frames away, avert
my eyes at the ghost
the negative of their erect bodies make–

alone, I open that door,
heft the weight of my body
into my apartment’s cool envelope,
into its usual places.