I'm on the roof again
up & down
not standing, nor jumping
reading
accepting the sun's
kiss through the wind's
bite like the cool smoke from
a menthol dart, piercing
my lungs
The warmth does little to soothe the
icefall in my heart.

I'm on the floor again
wet
under a grey blanket
too small for me
weighted
to emulate a body
too light for me
     but sufficient
for now.

Perhaps I'll take it into
the sun with me
warm and heavy
but it will block the
breeze
the coolness I'm now accustomed
to
but do not seek