Bedmates

Outside, under snow drifts, and through the rays
In the moments before the sun lifts, there’s a section
Of the sky between moon and mountain and all the
Variations of mulus where we anticipate the light.

Breath appears as it freezes on the window pane —
Refracting the last of the midwinter night. And I ease
Into the dreams I have while everyone sleeps.

We breathe together, but yours is deep.  

Inside, we’ve built a life out of blanket forts and
Target decor and memories pasted in
Picture frames. But outside is where my eyes go
When the world’s soft — what light —

Breaking through the dust and fog and steam and
Snowflakes that demand to be seen before the sun.
Here, from the third story window, I can shift in the sheets
Until all I see is air and space, and meet with the wind
Gusts that carry me:

To the space between the mulus and the mountain.
And the sun breaks; and it fills the place. We breathe
Together, but yours is deep — so I slip back to sleep.
And you’ll never know that we flew to the moon
In the moments before the sunrise during a midwinter’s
Search for peace.