it is mid-January of my fifty-fifth year

your fortieth kindest poetfriend

a crinkly glaze & glitter of snow

adorns the dormant air-conditioner

the voice of your email strikes me

as gentle reprimand

your honesty is grace

I pace from room to room

in the velvet light of 4.25 am

pondering my Tuesday

with a mind both sleep-starved

and eager