The moon is low and large,
the light from my neighbors window
is a golden talc on the night,
muted and diffused, like my thoughts
lately. The laughter of
loved ones from inside, warms me
despite frigid air. Cold live oxygen,
thin, effervescent, fills my lungs,
invigorates, hollows out and
clears space for life, provides
ground for the full figure
of my heart.

All of me beats
with expectation to return
to within. They wait for me.
Entering from the garden side,
I shed the frosted twilight
immediately upon crossing the transom,
warmed though I have yet to near the hearth.

Their shouts of welcome
melt me to remove
all sense of
I, other, and
the outside
where I have been.

Chagall 2018