Eyes open.

Water rushes and melts our cabin in some icy tundra.

It ricochets off the roof and loosens the foundation.

The house clinging to a rock,

I to my friend.

When we slide out we rush past a polar bear in slow motion,

It can sense us.

Eyes closed.

It’s silent.

This is the best hour to be in my house.

When all are asleep but me,

and I talk to Nyx through my window.

“Thank you for the insomnia,” it’s genuine.

Lifting the fog from my brain,

attention garnered towards soul,

survival instincts resting but not dormant.

I am imperceptible.