Covered

It is late;
the world has gone under,
My child rests,
and the other one -
the one hidden in blankets and womb -
sleeps or stirs.
She is held ... and floating -
the unknown embrace
we forever chase.

Enough powder descends to cover,
the ground a pastry white,
the sky a tinkling rain.
I walk the house to feel its peace -
the frozen that I can watch in warmth,
a middle-class luxury.

In my own way, I am a lord tonight.
My wife stirs not.
And though I cannot sleep, it is fine.
The snow is a blanket, an assurance,
a covering and isolation.
I cannot be found.

For a time,
I am the child with the blanket pulled tight over my head;
I am the kid who knows only the world I can imagine.