Last Winter

Sitting
  The fire’s making me sweat
  Beads on my forehead and upper lip

The rain is pattering on the tin roof

And I am sitting next to the void

looking in

It is about what I feel

The feeling is night
  The feeling is warmth
  The feeling is kinship

Of the sleeping animals

The fire orange and amber light

The feeling knots my brow together
  And tightens my upper chest
  My upper stomach lurches and hurls and my abdomen paralyses

Seeking outward,

I can hear the sighs of the dog
  the purr of the cat
  the drops of the rain
  and the beat and the tune on the radio

My other half talks in his sleep
  a sporadic language
  that only he understands
  and the raindrops get heavier
 
  My body gets heavy

Then, I see the light of the fire
  and I hear the embers twinkle.