i shiver under the covers so i
get up and put on a jumper
the roads are quiet

in chilly october and i have some warm milk
hour after hour passes by i read a little Roth
and a short story by Chekhov then a poem by
DH Lawrence the cold twists my shoulders and i
sneeze twice it is odd i am not panicking not angry i
am for once truly at ease being with this darkness
instead of trying to sleep her away or grasp her between my fingers

already she is thinning slowly
i will watch her go

the first tram trundles to a stop
picks up an early passenger and rolls away
i boil myself an egg and start writing this
“i do this i do that” poem

tomorrow is waiting to come in
nights have more comfort than i know these days