She closes the window. I wasn't paying attention anyway, I'm getting cold, and the birds are nowhere to be seen. I go inside.

It's

dusk

in a snowy forest and I'm playing with a fox.
It bites my wrist but there is only a dull ache.
I feel that it wants to say sorry but can't. I die.

Style

"No, it'll get cold!"
"Put a tut ahh put a-"

Above and behind a window opens and a cigarette hangs out.


"Put a blanket."

There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.

Better Lift

1

        13       |
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            H   |
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. . . .         |
. . . .         |
. . . .         |
. . . .         |
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in a post. I want to be remembered

there's probably something in that, but I don't feel like thinking about it too much yet.

13, H, grate