“It was not Night, for all the Bells
Put out their Tongues, for Noon“
Emily Dickinson.
a heavy blanket or two between
her and October mornings
fog curtaining windows
pressed against panes
voyeuristically
she defies its walleyed glare
the demanding clock
daywear strewn across a chair
stays there
while spiders criss-cross
chimney breast to grate, corralling
devilish despair
downstairs
Covered this poem with just 44 words for Merrill's quadrille prompt: Blanket
PoetryPix 
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