Warmth is a jumper, a knitted, sewn and cross stitched bunker in which we exist and sweat in, let out sighs of I am okay or I'm always this upset, and behind those patterns we see the world through a window the size of a pea, an out-of-focus key hole where we can watch and wait and be warm in the thought that we've no work tomorrow.
Warmth is a blanket on a bed, a mass produced widespread piece of material in which we can dive under and have serial sleeps that carry on into the evening; and the light coming in through the wide window hits the Hiroshima shadow-damp on the side wall making it dance with the commuting-home-traffic.
from coffeeshoppoems.com, home of free original poetry