Hibernation

What am I doing all day

behind my closed door?

Eating ramen from a paper cup

mixing six shades of gray

constructing poems in paint

not seeing people for days

listening to Anna Karenina

watching the floor being covered in drips

scrubbing sumi ink from my hands

rinsing brushes

noticing that the sky is suddenly orange

leaving in the dark

shivering down the stairs

What do I do all day?

Experiments,

perceived as failures,

appear fascinating

in the morning,

Killing my darlings

translating ciphers

conversing with

‘What if” and ‘The Wild”

in wash and charcoal.