Charcoaled air slaps our faces
as we race through the icy black
Soon,
we lose feeling from our skin –
frozen needles piercing into our veins.
Surrounded by civilization, we feel colder than humanity.

They walk upon the stream of charcoal,
gazing upwards.
The Big Dipper?
You and I stay on the dry bank
and you stretch your arms around me
covering me;
warmth, protection. Love.
You rest your head on mine
and they keep searching.
Cassiopeia?

The harsh grind of a sports-car engine
screeches 50 in a 25 mile-per-hour zone
But with your arms, barring me into warmth,
the needles stop piercing
and listen:

nothing.

Transparent white pearls
twinkling
in the indigo sea of sky;
orange lighthouse beacons
line the streets with safety.

Now silent, stilled
we step on the bank toward home.