The wind is rattling the chimney flue

The wind is rattling the chimney flue.

The room is cold and the light is blue.

The TV is dark but the sound is still there—

hanging in the middle of the air.

That zipper. It was a mechanical teeth-grind.

The kind of noise you can't... un-find.

It was sharp and final and gray.

I’m trying to look the other way.

The glass of water on the stand

is shaking just a little bit in my hand.