I think ordinary things
Are beautiful- sanding outside,
Freezing, looking at a busy parking lot, beautiful
In a halo of streetlight illumination, pockmarked with
Shadows of wondering people.

And I want nothing more than to
Reach behind me,
Feel your warmth, find your hand, hold you,
Let you see through my eyes, our eyes.

As I stand, though,
Cool night air bites into me.
No searing, comforting heat available,
Only me. Looking outwards, finding
Beauty?