Poured out for you

Some do it standing
At the window,
Gaze fixed on the horizon,
Fists pressed tightly to thighs,
Skin raised against the cold
Lining of a nylon work shirt because

The cold from the window gets in.

I can't do it that way.

I need my bed,
The warmth of a night's sleep
All over me and inside the robe
I keep on because

The cold from the window gets in

Otherwise.

It is better to do it in the bed
And let the warmth of your body
Combine with the warmth of it

To melt the cold of the window
And the morning beyond until it reaches
The warmth of the lovely white sun

That pours itself onto the sky for you
And comes like a dollop of cream
Into the coffee cup you hold
Like a tribute to more gods than you can name
In your warm bed.