move a little in ceaseless cold
with unnatural distance,
terrified learners learning themselves
from spruce, sanitizer, crow chortle.
In a forest somewhere, unseen blossoming trees;
they are not in this house
with its distance, door handles, lock
down in the gully, fresh streams
of knowing nothing at all is forever
in this stronghold of handheldlessness.
What is the sum of 10 and 10:
It's your turn! Move into the poem. Renovate it. Knock down its walls. Put your spin on it. Make it your own.