Sorry—but
all of the
velvety Bach
chorales—spicy black
chicory
coffee—and odd-
scented cigarettes
it could
possibly muster
just won't keep
a homebody comfy—
when that
first chill!—still arcane
and divined
purely
in the abstract—
of winter—nevertheless
first
dares sneak
inside—to tickle
his still-
burnt
umber neck
near the middle—
