Idaho plays dead in the winter. The maze of cotton woods
Become bare brown knots. The slew sits still, solidifying
Deeper and deeper in cracked bubble sheets.
My cat disappears most days. Her fur thick as a rabbits,
Glows. I can barely make her out as she paws through
Snow towards my, Here kitty kitty, here kitty kitty.
At sunrise, my gaze catches east, towards the Menan
Buttes. The sun’s blanket of gold shatters the peaks.
Light stretches to the box car barn, and the feeding
Shed, erasing the shadow of numbing air from the