old nights

the older the night
the colder the chills
as they break through
my skin, spine
like ice plopping
into a simmering pot
in winter, orange
sweatshirts in snow
and thoughts of yesterday
still rising like
elevators in my back.

Hi! There are a lot of ideas crammed into this poem, loads of imagery, and I like it. I like the idea of nights being old. It sounded to me like an old night would be one thatis an old memory, and the further into the past, the more vivid or colder the memory is. That's just how I interpreted it. I'm not sure about the word "plopping", it does seem to fit the image you're making, it just reminds me of something else, I guess. I like the image of vivid orange against white, and the whole poem flows well. Good job.