the absence of light

It's like this: I can't see the moon from my window 

But I know she's there in the glow coming in slits from between the blinds

And the shadows cast long and lonely across the gray street

I remember other streets

And how it felt from that side of the window pane

Color bled out in night

Cold bled from my bones

My toes ached on those nights

Tonight they are covered in a smothering of soft blankets and slanted moonlight

Tonight full and cold and on the wrong side of the window and out of sight

She still draws on the part of me

That wants to howl 

My cold and lonely allegiance to her

Until nothing is left in my lungs but frozen air and nothing

Left in my heart but the memory of those lonely streets

And nothing left in my bed but my body, spent and asleep at last

Our wife: the moon

 If only I could remember the shape of the house that used to keep me warm

The walls that blocked the cold and the roof

Which asked the stars, "Could you pipe down and let them sleep?"

If only I could remember the way we lay in piles of blankets and body heat

Fingers on my skin

One window facing east, reminding me of the day to come

One west to remind me of the night still ahead

And one south so the moon could wink at me

As only she knew how we loved within those walls. 

Ethan Frome

I'm in love with the steep roofs of these cold New England houses

Their angle of bank, designed with a cool eye to the sky

Think of the snow

Soft and silent

Piling on the streets but not the rooftops

I'm in love with the way a storm sweeps in and settles down like an old flame