A breath of air, exhaled against glass

Figure of eight, crude face, traced as seconds pass

While away the morning

Sun peeks over treetops

Greeting me less warmly

Adorned with wool and fleece

Cold nips at my fingers and settles in my feet

Sleepy memories I’d rather put to rest

Rise in the street, shake ice from hair with hands

Already cold to the touch

Free coffee in the lobby of a bank, with some luck

To the back lot for a spell

Roll a cigarette

Snap back to here and now