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 floor.

The ice hangs from my hands

and creeps into my being.

Each seasonís change carries me

farther from our home.