This explains my winter habits and Angel asleep made me look for it - it's from 1992:
My poems are the dreams of some hibernating creature
Who's large enough to live long enough
To cheat death on his off days.
She curls,
Paws folded over,
Snout tucked in,
Like a comma,
Round her inner world.
In the stillness
When her life is slowed,
The memory of her shambling
Through the outer world of summer
Keeps her safe in its hold
It is her anaesthetic
Against the killing pain
Of cold.
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