When the sun sneaks through the window,

the coat on your elbow, dangling and

swinging, becomes yellow.

Your eyes flicker 

as I think of something good to have

for a breakfast in midwinter.

And this morning would be 

one of those mornings 

that I hate to be a world changer,

hate to mourn for faraway people.

One of those mornings 

That we’d lie quietly by the fire.

How we’d look out this window,

and see thousands of windows,

shining in the afterglow.

But somehow,

At some point that we don’t know,

the windows

Break into shinny pieces.

Their voices crashing each other

And falling apart,

Til light disappear.

It’s my dream.

Given up, poured out, laid on the ground

And that’s when I know

This is all wrong