The Last Lip Of Winter
So I sit
At the edge of seasons
With ghostly legs dangling
Over the last lip of winter
Can I let myself slip
Loosen my grip
On the moss-covered teeth
Above and below me
Yes it yawns at my back
That mouth black melancholic
It once carried me ’round
Inside color drained out
Frightening but familiar
Strange safety was found
I could crawl back inside
This giant gray gaping wide
But it stinks of stale breath
And there is a breeze, fresh
Flora blooming below
I have never been one
To let myself fall, to spring
So freely towards hope
I only know how
To gulp and let go
–a.r.
The Precipice by Lea Kelley
sometimesihatemycat 
… Jonah in the mouth of the whale
Yes, kind of. The whale of winter…hmmm…