Better pitch your current self high
Wishing you were actually halfway,
Halfway across a street to horizon.
Carried away by sounds of words,
You find grandiloquence thawing
The frozen waste of numb winter.
You open window to a dog’s bark
A lower English a midnight curve.
Window is halfway to fulfillment.
Feel grandiloquence in the bones
While winter in them is yet raging,
Before they are dumb by a night.