The mercy of a calm cold morning
keeps me snug in my home,
safe from chaos.

I get to pretend I can’t hear
the roaring outside over the sound
of my comfortable furnace.

There’s not even a storm
to fret over. The sun’s bright,
the wind chill is rough

but I’ve seen and felt worse.
I can deal with that. 
It’s not the wind making the noise

that I’m hiding from. The roar I fear
is human, full of words
I can’t or won’t understand

that drilled through my sleep
and opened me
as screwworms might

but without leaving a visible trace.
The mercy of the cold morning
is that it keeps me

from stepping to the sound
and joining in. I can choose
to stay here and pretend

I hear nothing, can pretend
I won’t soon need
to become harmful as well.

From where I stand mercy
is a cold illusion I can indulge
as long as I stay inside,

so here I will stay 
for as long as I can, knowing
it cannot last and I am needed out there.