By the window sill again, arms propped
up like the buttress of old,
the window is cracked even though
temperatures are low,
and I am taking in the wind.

It is chilly, though cool but clement
to me, and the smells brought
from the nighttime air pleasant
like a friend who flitters in
and out of my life, I know
I will not sense tomorrow.

I welcome the night, my spire
at this window a comfort
and I wish it were always
this shaded, that I might
hide away from the world
forever, cloaked and cared
for by this quiet arena.