I sit with window cracked, not wide
not that much on this winter night,
but open and allowing both
air and sound to filter in
to this Casa cocoon, mixing
our two worlds at beaches edge.

I hear the traffic, muffled but
constantly droning, the backing
note of my favourite song,
cold air touches my forehead
and I concentrate on my task,
to release the words.

We clash, our patterns meld
through workings and dealings,
as what wants is never what
one should, this facsimile my
appropriate comprise for now
and ever.