Entering
LAURA CRONK
Moonscape of snow at night.
To die, to crash,
could be a crush of snow.
All softness.
I imagine, driving alone,
being enveloped by snow, crashed into, quickly.
The mice must have these visions.
Talking quietly when they can't sleep
about tunneling in endless grain until, full of it,
completely enveloped by it, peacefully, it takes them.
(from Lyric)
