One-shot poems, 5 a.m.

A ladybug is sleeping on the letter N.
Somehow this reminds me to go turn
the thermostat up.
Full moon above the low cloud ceiling.
Under their roof of snow a city of voles.
In the not-quite dark of the not-yet light,
silhouette of an opossum against the snow
scuttling from tree to tree.
Directly underneath me where
I sit and type,
something is chewing.
The eaves grow longer teeth,
ice dams overflow.
My burrow is damp.
The moon shows its face for half a minute
through a thin screen of cloud,
snow falling sideways.

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