Under lamplight on this winter night -
too early for bed - I fall asleep in my chair
without another to say good night
or, when waking, good morning, Dear.

Can I make you breakfast, Love -
do you feel up for eggs and toast?
Or shall I leave you to read,
and nap, or walk when you can?

None of this now. She is gone.
The air is empty and I've little to do.
I'll be off to bed with the moon and stars
to sleep with me on this winter night.
______________________________________

Portland, Oregon - January 15, 2023