frost and sleep fly parallels,
crossing over paths to lick
children-cracking cold,
to slam doors in limpid chateaus.

when my heat tires of moving,
it looks back, sees frost and sleep
throw snowball-hearts at each other's steeds,
or not steeds - just thrifty mules.

we fly-frolic forward.
expectations of iced castles undulate
when the princess removes her 
sugar-patched petticoats.

fired sunburns doodle wooden gates on my chest,
but the bed refuses to creak after the thumps.
paintbrush in hand, i out
to the swishing of November's first blankets.

11.15.98