I sit alone; the piano bench
is hard and cold so late at night.
My darkened silhouette turns out
A face to contemplate the window.

A street lamp casts a light upon
The tree outside the window,
And snowflakes dance around the two
Before alighting on the wind.

I tough the glass with fingertips
Turned cold and haloed by the frost.
Between them I look out an up
To where the snowflakes lifted off.

I feel another place within
That picture of the world contained.