the rattle rattle of the old space heater makes
the bitterness of winter sweeter but does not
keep my fingers from being cold
and alone, having shut the door, having
refused more busyness. more silliness
not wanting to walk over the frozen tundra
that the city has become i sit here, still weakly
wishing, still believing in things that
have not come
taking for token of a future promise those
things that have
and i am still not satisfied with the way things
are and
far from that being a sign of your absense it means
i believe to strongly in you
and through this all i know i've always seen the star
i came from the east. i cannot stop
i've followed you so far