The heater clicked into its metal sleep

The heater clicked into its metal sleep

and left me in the hollow of the hall.

Outside, the streetlights are drowning,

smothered by a sky that is coming down

in heavy, wet clumps.

It doesn't make a sound.

It's just the physical weight of it.

A branch on the old oak finally sags,

a soft thud against the rising drifts

that doesn't even travel.

It’s just white landing on white,

a piling silence that feels like

the world is closing its eyes.