Little hut in the snow…made from wood and all her vices.
I zip up close to the vest…
Only when it is time to leave.
Of the earth…my door of entry requires less shelter from the weather.
A warm hearth draws me near.
Breaking the back of pavement…I am back on the beat
Neon walks in as intruder.
Ready to confiscate my light.
Doorways to peep shows whistle out misdeeds.
Hunched away from wordy words…there is not much to be said, when the city is out on display.
The clouds move so swiftly among tall buildings…
It is hard to keep up.
Yet, I do not hurry.
My only harried pace is back to the wooden hut.