A flame centers every home
Each on its adjoining plot
Though bitter gusts invade our tombs
These palaces we’ve bought
Snow and salt, the pavement soaks and dries
Putting the miles between our replies
The cold, they say, is lack of heat
Burrowing in our creaking beds
We forget about our hands and feet
Living inside our vacant heads
When I dream beyond these lots
Frozen stiff, each broken stalk
You kindle things that I forgot
We sit together and we talk