If I could sacrifice my present to the ideal, I’d want a window seat as my shelter.
Quiet and warm. Quite warm.
I’d spend my minutes watching eyelashes catch snowflakes and puddles crack under galoshes.
I digress to stand atop the cushions. Spinning and looking up, I blind myself.
This roof has leaks.
All I feel is soggy cardboard. All I want to feel is hope.
As I compile yesterday’s headlines into tonight’s pillow, I wonder how you are.
Can’t you see I’m soaked through and though? I’ve been cleansed; I swear.
Come sit by my purified soul in this quiet warmth.
And when there’s nothing new to talk about, we’ll talk about the weather.