dear philipp, || i feel like crying or dying. | full moon bares itself in front of me tonight. | i'm in the front yard, | stunned and frozen, | leaning heavily on the snow shovel, | wind lifting my scarf like birds' wings. | birds on the ground, walking through | the snow in the dark, crashing into trees. | dying out. || i can't get used to falling. || i'll tie some poems to my shoes | so when i look down while walking, | i'll think of you | and beauty and perfection and derangement. || i go missing in my own life, | a query that ends like this -