Because behind its door there's nothing to keep my fingers warmSo cold. I trudge along, hands in my pockets, marching to the invisible music, for the radio plays on an endless loop inside my head and it's easy to make my feet match the beat, the words tripping down a softened, trampled path. The ties for my hat hang straight and the dog speeds along ahead of me on the end of his leash. Everything is grey and I am alone. They've taken my words. He took my heart and dropped it into a cloud at thirty-seven thousand feet, as best he can do for heaven, hoping he can still find it and bring it back in the future.
And all I find are souvenirs from better times
Before the gleam of your tail lights fading east
To find yourself a better life.
The future. It makes my eyes sting and the song begins again.
Fear and anticipation are the instruments, tears are the notes, big fat magnifying drops that blur the page of my book as I read later, the dog sleeping at my feet, the grate blowing warm air over my knees. I pick up the emote control and turn the song down a little so that it becomes the thread that holds my conscience together, a pocket where I will stuff the doubts that spill over the airwaves and melt the microwaves that keep me connected. Only a few threads left to ravel and I will break free to twist in this wind.
My nose is red, my eyes washed in bottle greens, sea glass faded, smashed upon the rocks. I pull my socks up over my knees and put my boots on over them. I button my coat in time with the transitions and hum to myself as I get ready to go out again.