wood-smoke in night-

air, steam of your

breath before

your face pricked

with chills, surely

the tread

of your homecoming

beneath the sky’s

vault making its haste

slowly, and surely

the uneven pavement

rising, swing

of your arms

in time

with your feet and

breath, in the road

the cars inch past

each other

and pass on, warm

beasts of the night,

their engines

lowing.