Duet

Clouds push full from the south.
Beside the window, a draft
and one chair. Enough to sit,
watch the day fail,
weigh each catastrophe
as crows pinch the red berries.

Stillness covers too thinly
to comfort. Chill creeps the floor.
Find another chair
for that corner—to weather
a rain of worry and rue.
It is better with two.

Then, for a pair, why not a lamp
in the violet shadows,
a knob of light
to fend off the awful dark.
Soon, a fire burnishes the grate
and appearing in the clearing: stars.