Tormented

Enormous solids were falling

from who knows what heights,

who knows what places.

I trembled,

and in my mouth

an inky taste. Precise.

Hail, maybe,

enormous kernels of ice;

coming down,

with a scandalous impact,

didn't bury me, terrorized,

under the covers.

It didn't happen, it wasn't that.

A below zero temperature   

circulated through the soft center of my bones.

A truly searing cold.   

Nothing having to do with monsters came to pass.

Nothing to do with interminable distances.

No brutal incidents.

Only the agony of acorns.

Only a cycle that completes itself

every few years

and transforms into a tropical forest

a choiring oak grove.   

Which is the fear.