There is a panic we feel
sud­denly wak­ing on a patch of un­fa­mil­iar ground.
We are ut­terly lost for mo­ments
as our mem­o­ries fil­ter in,
and the walls come into focus.
Then we look down to see the shape of our bod­ies
through the clouds of breath.
And in the turn­ing light we know
there is some part of us that sleeps
and some part of us that drifts away each night
to hover over the frozen fields.