POTF #2

Writing on word lists

Each year at this time
I wait almost spent
with winter I want
so much to be done

I hunker most rooted
frozen in months
in icy inaction
and waddings of snow

Films and blind curtains
my eyes in my headache
enforcing the darkness
devoid of big flame

Sick of the sussering
trapped in my cave
I wait almost spent
for the swans to the lake