Warm, Still

I am too much aware of death

and of its fanged bastard cousin

suffering

whose knowledge of me is, after all, intimate

and who has ever taken pains

to counsel me

But today is Thanksgiving

And so away you

ghosts and goblins

endlessly chewing at my walls

Away, please.

For my wife

sleeps on the couch before me

having eaten her fill

of what on this day God

saw fit

to bequeth us

Outside our door

the weakened light retreats and

the nerveless cold marches forth

sure to catch us

sure to chill us

and she will awaken

and seek my warmth

and

delight

will be ours

still

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