It’s all I can do at the moment to sip the tea and hold it against my chest. Warmth as resuscitation. Candles and silence. Trees creaking in the wind in a far off wood. A white sky spreads itself open wide between my palms. Both the time gone by and the time to come are too far apart to hear each other’s intentions, so they whisper at me from opposite corners. Rooftops and smoke escaping from chimneys into what can only become the cold of another winter night. Fear outstretched. Desire worn thin. If you can remove the claws from your skin your skin will mend itself while you sleep. It’s too early to crawl into bed. It’s too late to take back the promises you made to yourself, the ones you repeat all day in your head. As my fingers turn the page my mind is an ocean and not a single word is cherished or retained. The evening light is a pale daffodil wilting in the empty street below. I close my eyes and imagine you breathing. Inside of the motion of the distance there is a footstep and it is forward facing in the dark.