windows in winter

the bony ends of my skeleton quiver
flipping up and down
typing to my lifeline in this frigid box

nothing stirs
the dogs tails are curled under their legs
and their faces buried into little balls

sitting on my legs
burying body parts in a sweatshirt
sitting in the bathroom with the shower on

nothing seems to work
the cold spreads proximally
creeping up my arms

my feet live in Antarctica
my hands shriveled in Greenland
and my body is losing itself in this seat

turn the heat down
and try
open windows in the winter