9 degrees
outside-- wind 
striking matches
on my red face--
punishing us 
for holding hands 
while she is so
vast & cold & lonely--
tonight i envy the 
weather of Pennsylvania--
how unforgivingly 
volatile she lives--
inflicting all kind
of sadness--
i think of how
winter has a way 
of making me want
to be smaller
& maybe it's because
i'm discovering
the thinness of
my own skin--
my own body a piece
of orbit--
there must 
(of course)
be smaller galaxies
to live in--
i opened the door
of my closet to find
a spiral one had 
taken shelter there--
ripping my sweaters 
from their hangers--
eating left socks &
snapping my candles--
clumsy playing with
matches--
i tell him 
he can stay as long
as he doesn't
get bigger-- as
long as he 
remains small 
enough to sleep
in my palm--
& he promises &
i know he's lying--
we are all so incapable
of stillness--
even now i can
hear the moan
of the door frame 
as he tugs at the hinges--
hungry for
metal nails & 
brass nobs-- 
he is so young but
tonight
he will grow 
too large for 
my ceiling--
i ask him if
i can try it-- if 
i can try life as
a tiny comet
or meteor or moon
& he laughs
because we both
know it would
never work--
he knots my socks
before
he leaves out
the windows in
a cascade of frost
& for a moment
i leave the
windows open to
let the largeness of
the house breathe--
i yawn too--
i wonder how
many suns there
are caught
in my teeth--
i want to let
myself live
on smaller galaxies 
on nights
like this-- 
orbit quickly--
watch the sun
leap frog
from
horizon to horizon--
blink nights
away--
pirouette--
walk outside
in cold january
so the weather 
can be less alone--