I’m tired of waking up next to the window taped with cardboard,
rushing to check my phone,
pausing to ignore messages that are not in my inbox,
swiping over Facebook,
pretending to care
about yesterday’s crowd talk and mustaches filling the air
“Peas and carrots peas and carrots peas and carrots … “
giving a thumbs up to people who are always taking pictures of themselves.
If only someone would hold out a chair,
offer me a biscotti,
I would dip the chocolate, and watch shortbread melt into coffee,
eyes wandering away from the crumbs
towards the porch where the icicles hang
imagine what it would be like to sit with you,
breath glistening like a snowflake dancing in the sun.
If I run to find your footsteps will I find them in the powdery drifts
or right beside me knowing where I sit?
God with us