I’m on hibernation.

I’ve visited my inner towers.

I’ve climbed the face of my clock.

I’ve shaken the ticking big hand,

And I’ve slapped away the tocking small one.

It’s times like these that matter,

When a minutia of minute minutes,

Pitter-patter down upon my breathing fur.

A warm rising and falling,

Like the sun and moon,

I yawn towards the dawn.