The storm has cut the wire The kitchen hum

The storm has cut the wire. The kitchen hum

has died into a hollow, freezing space.

The edges of the room are going numb

while shadows pull the features from my face.

I find the roll of silver in the drawer

and smooth a jagged sheet across the wood.

My thumb-pads map the creases and the scar,

a landscape understood.

The candle flickers in the crinkled sheet,

a mountain range of cold and metal light.

It’s just enough to trick a little heat

into the middle of the night.