I could stay where we are
hiding from snow and be fine,
no need to get up, if I didn’t feel
how the tiny thin glass splints
of the broken Christmas tree ornament
that was over fifty years old
enter the skin of my hand.
We could have that happy feel
as if all is well for a moment
because of candles
spreading their yellow light
and outside it would snow,
if you were here too.
It is warm here and all would be magic.
We could see smiling faces
in each little fragment
of the broken tree-ornament.
But for now I am content
with just the thought of you thinking of me
while outside Winter is making things worse
and blood drops are falling on Josef.