I don't Dream

It's winter, 2am
somewhere in the house a door gently nudges the frame
the only hint of a silent breath
somewhere a window must be open
but it's 2am, and I am alone
and it's dark

the door and the breeze repeat their rehearsal
and I'm jealous of this dance that they share
I want to get up and smite their flirtations
but the night is cold, and so am I
cold like never before
and so tired

The gentleness of the doors quiet thumping
hurts more than the slamming from before
it's mocking me with its gentle movement
and the air caresses me with its voice
and its voice speaks of nothing
I sleep. But I don't dream.