The dog woke me to the dark, the steady-breath beach of my bed. No bell, no fire. No wisp of dream. There it is again. The bark of insistence and my denial. If I do not move it cannot touch me. The hiss and fizz of the surge receding. I could deny everything in the perfect stasis here.
Then again - his feet on the floor, the clink of a buckle reminding me of imminent departures. It will be necessary to take on form and substance. It will be necessary to rise. To go and offer something. To him who wants nothing of me, wants everything, but different. What? A kiss on the forehead. My tenderness against his resolve. But first I must freshen this mouth.
The moon hovers dimly over the chimney. The new light in the neighbor's yard does violence to the dark in mine. The roof a flat reveal. Shadows that tell no time at all grip the lawn. Robbed of voice by that coppery cacophony, the moon pulls the cloud up over her shoulder, and turns away.
I go down to him, offer tea, wish him happy new year before he goes. He says: I never thought that was important, but ok. And then, just for a breath, my head rests against his heart and he holds me there.