A Winter Spell

A poem for November.

Roll your toes.
Push their tops in tight,
Right against your socks.
Rake them across the sheets 
Till the cold rubs off,
Blue and wet and bitten
And Oh! Burning, 
Smouldering thaw.
Viced in phase transition,
Sublime. Sunk
Into the bottom,
Squeeze until
Your skin pales white.
Bleached, hollow bones
Aching joints, 
Fused and still 
As this night;
Frozen, shocked
In a blight. 
Roll up now,
Tight,
Tight,
Tight.

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