The sky pale pink,
the traffic lights
looked like
they were burning.
Somewhere in the distance
was your old house;
a light in the window.
The scent of pine,
lavender clouds
descending to a frosted ground.
Tomorrow, there will be a chill mist
covering the spiked grass,
but tonight the stars are coming out like
buttons
fastened one at a time
on a navy blue coat.
Can you see the same scene
from your skylight,
like a postcard
frozen in time?
The frost comes on
but you are warm
in your owl’s nest
high above the city.
I will wait for you to come out