The fridge trickles and pops,
the ice maker oblivious to the deep freeze
outside, and our growing thirst
for wine, and flames.
The lake is thick skinned with ice.
Like our winterizing bodies layered in
blankets, Fazl socks, and comfort foods,
water is a memory of itself,
a dream of what comes next.
We have done this before, hunkered down
in tired horizons when darkness comes.
We will wait it out,
try not to think about
four season sleeping bags
or our saviour complex.
On a night like this
our hands are empty. We need
mercy. We all need mercy.