This morning the curtains glow
the color of embers.
Don’t get me wrong. It’s still winter,
still New England
and on the other side of the window
the mute trees hold the cold inside them.
If I step outside for five seconds
it will settle into me too
but this morning, propped up in bed,
engulfed by aquamarine pillows
and honeyed shadows
I could be in Florida or Morocco.
Even if I’m not, the sun is getting stronger
by the minute. Soon enough
there will be places in the body
the cold won’t reach.