it's hard to have good posture when the heat's out

it's hard to have good posture when the heat's out

huddled by the space heater, a crisp breath billows

more quiet than a shout, like an apple well stored

anticipate benevolence in velvet depth as night turns

learn to breathe in breathe out, feel the fronds

of guanyin's willow supple and stout

what was once travail turns _______* at the core

[*Note: each time read, place a different adjective in the blank, from this list

or your imagination: 

hopeful, growthful, trilling... ]

[or what about removing "at the core" - although I like the resonance with apple in stanza 1]

so

what was one travail turns to ease

[is this an artifact of feeling cold, the incapability of completing a thought/poem?]

[other ideas on how this poem could end?]