Image of Despair as terrible white angels -
and also mundanely, daily bread -
nourishment in place of -

Dry lips this cold winter. Cold dry winter I love, weighted. Deep winter, settled in.

White Sustenance, Emily Dickinson calls Despair - Winter too. Such sweetness of air, delicious on my throat. Refresh, reset, else all would get stale.

Quiet, waiting, nothing doing - cold gets down into the marrow of things and makes a mark.