It is morning and there has been a blizzard. The house is empty. I wander from room to room in boxers and socks. The power has gone out and the light from outside is clean and pure. The empty street has become a perfect gleaming version of itself. I stand very still and watch it through the front window.
Last night when we got stoned you showed me your poetry and I was overcome. It is so wonderful, I said tearfully, and as you touched the back of my neck softly I realized what I meant was, this is a part of your life that is so separate from myself. I will never captivate you fully.
I put on sweatpants and boots and walk outside with no shirt on. The snow is so deep I can climb up to the roof of the little beige shed in the side yard. I stand out there for some time, looking at my neighborhood from nine feet higher than usual. The cold is biting and fresh and feels just right, maybe. I'd like this moment to mean something. I'd like this to be beautiful. I'd like to be transformed.