December 22, 1998, 1:00am
I look out my window upon
the frozen ground and car-crushed
The ice has fallen
again Iím alone.
Winter spreads before my empty bed,
my empty house, my empty soul.
This, the first winter in eight,
without my loveís fire.
In each otherís arms we used to
look from our warm window
The children slept or played
in their room.
The snow and ice was beautiful,
we snuggled and cozied in warmth,
Our own warmth, each otherís fire,
safe inside our home.
I let the windows open now,
the snow drives in and drifts on
The ice hangs from my hands
and creeps into my being.
Each seasonís change carries me
farther from our home.