hurrying with parcels of thoughts,
i stride the fifteen feet to my silver car in the dark
parking lot where it sits alone, gleaming.
shove the key, release the lock, yank the handle
and nothing. no entrance to the curved capsule inside
away from windchill and blowing shards of ice. dumb
with cold, i stare at the dark windows, and around
at the sheer white sheet of concrete. i hear a train
whistle cut the air in half, and my finger bones stiffen.
for the first time in days, i find myself outside.
i find myself alone, unprotected, unsheltered.
i breathe in the death of January and observe