27
Degrees
My ears prickling against the fire heat
As one side of my body warms–
The other freezes.

Frost spreads across
Glass panes that are windows
Into our souls.
Soot spreads across
Glass panes that are windows
Into our minds.

With all the smoke and mirrors
How will we find each other?
Find ourselves?

I turn my frozen side to the fire, and now instead of the snow covered wild–
I see the armoire, heavy
with all its pecan strong stained grain.
It opens to show me a shrunken picture of society.
There is no snow in the television, the dust in all its lightness seldom interferes with the fictional world described.

Only in this 27 degree moment
Should I search for clarity through a window
that nature has altered
That nature contorts.

I rest my hand on the back side of my cat
His fire filled eyes seem to also reflect the soot.
And once more,
I turn my frozen side to the fire.