Today smells like a hot, dry sunset in the desert, despite the cold.

I think of cold places, and I wonder about the bottom of the San Francisco Bay, and the coast of Monterey.

I think of the keyless, sleeping on frozen grates, and the patricians locked in ivory castles

I look up at the silver moon, and I can see the future there.

It makes me think about the cold hearts of old lovers, and the black eyes of crows.

I wonder if I could simply refuse the call of winter, and walk beneath a blazing, lonely sun.