Roving from room to room,

I twist the lamps on and

switch the lights off, cycle

TV channels and deal

the same solitary game

on the same solipsistic screen.

I snatch a handful of cookie

crumbs from the bottom

of the bag and swallow

a sloshing glass of red wine

at the fogged window

at dusk.  The wind sweeps

clumps of leaves down

the street, and the chickadees

peck at the feeder, stuffing

their beaks before they sit

tight in the bare branches,

trembling to hold their place.

The wind howls around

the windows, while I flit and sip

and nibble around the edges.

Published in Freefall Magazine, Spring 2005