Right after dusk,
it is blue hour in the sky.
Meanwhile on the ground,
white snow is all there is.
With a sour taste in my mouth,
I wander the parking lot.
I see windows at a distance,
some have darkness behind,
some have the warmth.
It's a bad habit of mine
that I linger,
gazing
through the windows.
Sometimes what I see—calm, sincere—
leaves a quiet delight in me.
Perhaps it reminds me
how the night goes
in a room filled with
the warmest lights.
I am unbothered
by the sour taste
in my mouth.