A draft slips under the door on the coldest night of the year, when even butter spreads hard though it sat out all day. Waiting
for you to return takes patience beyond what I can offer. Bring me something insignificant to talk about, tonight might be all there
is (this now). The chance to clap if you believe, to say thank you is the least we can do. (What it takes) Breath this rare air, hold
out for a lake, a mountain, where wide leaves rustle up stories the wind pulls from willing limbs.