Until Morning
A hundred good reasons
to wish for winter
so it comes
and you’ll forgo salt, sand and the
blisstouched skin
to pull yourself through another night
clung to your
never agains and
never happeneds
the pelt still warm and the fur
smelling of blood
there’s scant heat left
in the fire
Outside
stick figures, you know who they are,
dance closer
so that when the wind dies a little
you can hear their chopstick chatter
and the question you ask is
will the fire hold until morning?