Buttered windows dotting the night,
spilling over silver'd gardens,
love within, I without,
walking tall, a wind-whipped winter's night.

Each window offers me
a voyueristic peek into other worlds,
lives cast in high-ceiling'd rooms,
giant trees alight, tables of food,
the smell of a fire, bodies in brilliance,
shadows moving about, laughter,
the glow of a television,
an attic window ... who lies there?

I can only wonder, trudging onward,
hearing the pulse of music,
the slamming of a door,
a car starting, voices on the wind.

Deeper the town, long past houses,
I stand before a brick wall,
the biggest bar and restaurant,
city center, the roadies loading in,
as I round the corner, facing full windows,
like the little matchgirl,
basking in the final fire,
evaporating the walls to take my look inside.

How they laugh, tease,
pass the brew around, plates of appetizers,
the band roaring full force
as I turn my back, shutting out the light.

Retreating, retracing steps,
long walk home, hands numb, chilled bone,
the shimmering light of town,
the frosted lawns melting away, the noise,
all becoming a distant want,
as I mark my way towards home, final tracks,
sky so clear, bespecked with silver,
my head high, eyes on the watch.

I need only see your falling star,
my reminder, dead perhaps, yet my soul's mate,
the holiday season drawing nigh',
remembering you well, I am warm within.

*****

..."And the matches gave such a brilliant light that it was brighter than at noon-day: never formerly had the grandmother been so beautiful and so tall. She took the little maiden, on her arm, and both flew in brightness and in joy so high, so very high, and then above was neither cold, nor hunger, nor anxiety--they were with the angel LEON!"  -HCAndersen with the exception of LEON!

HAPPY HOLIDAYS TO ALL, AND TO ALL A GOOD WRITE. 

photo art by pbtenso