Every lit window is a gift at this hour

As my taxi turns toward downtown.

Perhaps you too are waking

To make the journey south.

Or perhaps you are dreaming through the storm,

Wishing us well into the thunder

And keeping your heart’s distance,

Which I cannot blame you for.

Or maybe you are frozen in the middle of your living room,

Having slept scarcely, scattered in shards of fear,

The TV muted.

Maybe your daughter or mother

Needs you more today

(Which is really a protest;

Which is love).

The thing is,

We are all awake in our way.