Crow vulture Jane smokes opium in the snow and in the rain,
and then, when the daffodils come out, she leaves herself again.
Back at the university, she follows the flows of ice.
Behind a stack of scribble books, she converses with the mice.
With that, at a desk too tall by two, she floats upon the seat,
for the emptiness deflates her, and she sleeps under the sleet.
— Gabriel Fenteany, February 4, 2014
