One Winter Night

I was clasping a winter night, the way it should be.
Gray and howling
I was one half of something else.
Staring at the moon.
Through a lonely window.
Past the clouds and the ideas.
Past the warmth to the sky.
And then back down again.
To an absent fire.
And a bed on the floor.
Cold and reflecting of recent flesh.
This winter night was creeping in the windows.
Seeping down the walls
Crawling on my chest.
I am this gray room on a Sunday night.
With soft glows of sitcoms.
On lonely screens.
And the pale orange of a Calgarian winter night in my heart.
In my dreams.