Door slams shut, earbuds go in,
hinges rattle, the world is cut off.

Cold hits like a freight train,
transforming my fingertips into numb
white stones
which do not faze me, only fascinate,
for the seaside emits rays of warmth
like radiation,
pulsing through my brain at ease like
pleasing sharp daggers abiding their
destinies.

Besides, I think as the intro plays
hypnotically
and I stare at the diamonds standing out
in the darkness,
They are only doing their jobs,
atomically reacting to the bitter attack
of winter conditions.
Thoughts like these give me pleasure.

By now I have made it past the short,
ugly, pompous bushes
that stand on opposing ends of the driveway
(they stand as if to say to applicable buyers,
“Don’t bother; the interior is hideous!”),
and have made my way past the tall,
aloof pine tree
that defines the estate.

Spinning spheres of carbon and argon interlope
on this marvelous adventure,
and it is to them I sacrifice
as I dance to the skies.
I fear the dancing days
might well be over.

Freezing winds send a highway of ripples across my cheek,
and my hair rides passenger, sticking up wildly.

Robert’s entrancing vocals elude
my capability.

“Down by the seaside,
see the boats go sailin’;
Can’t the people hear
what the little kid’s sayin’?”

She’s done early this time,
and that bothers me;
I won’t have time for a repeat.
When do we ever?

I walk back through the
traffic of gusts and spirits
and wind up back home.

I take it slow stepping inside,
enjoying the last fascinations
in my world of dreams.

And as I unleash the chore
and watch her go directly to the refrigerator
(along with her sister)
for her daily delight,
a beam of thought stabs
through a crack in the closing door,
sending one final message to my soul.

And as I watch, intrigued,
the diamonds slowly but surely

shift back into garnet.