Emily On A January Night

It's the coldest night of this very young year, the stars are like ice, the ice is like stars. The river is rolling in cold solitude, ice on the pilings, ice on the shore. The sand remembers the footprints from summer, when people were grateful to wade in cool water. But now it's all chilly and smoothed by the currents, no signs of life, icy water is all.

And we're lying in bed with a blue candle burning, too late to go anywhere, too cold to go out. Your skirt's folded neatly on the back of my desk chair, your sweater so carefully folded....