Snowflakes slant past the window,
a pale pattern of shadows
after the flame reflected;
in the glass, lit ices glisten
as I curl to the candle
Beyond the pane, peals of laughter ring
strange as angels in the dead of morning.
Oh jealous so of echoes I
loose the latch, the foreframe prise
and leaning near better to hear
admit a nether air;
as first cups gutter’d fire afraid
to repair –
the second hand seeks the broken seal
in hopes the howling crack will heal.