Sitting alone With you over there and your cool glass of wine Nothing to talk about Nothing to ask So I stare out the window At the warm blanket of snow And the sky is a bird And the feathers fall like the telling of stories.
Held and displayed By untouchable walls Icicles of blue-rooted light Hang frozen on dead wood.
I stand and walk Increasing the space between two Nothing to say Nothing at all So I lay down this sweater On the lap of the tall chair By the back door And tiptoe outside to my turned-down bed.