Round Two

Who's a winter, or whose canter
reflects my cold. In my head now,
move the bed there, and the couch
here, and now we've got lids,
now we're not losing. Right? The troll,
I don't mean a little scary thing, I mean
a pulling net in sea, the way the shrimp
swim still in the pull, the troll,
get it? Whose falter, who's caught
in a diamond shiver. The breath of
at odds, of ma cherie. Whose bar
could I leave at last, when it's nine
o'clock, my least favorite hour?
When you could work for a car,
or a press, or a sea, when you could
do that, what then? What happened back
in that winter? Whose
reflection gave my clock
a wallop in the wrong direction?