The Man Up There

Tonight is clear and the air smells of Cold and Snow and Smoke and Fire and I’ve gone to the window to look at the Moon but I cant see it, but I know its up there somewhere big and full because I can see the table and chairs down in the courtyard, covered in dying blanket of red and yellow and brown. If it weren’t for the moonlight I couldn’t tell one color from the other and I wouldn’t see the outlines of all the rooftops stacked up on top of each other all the way out to the river. Instead, I would only see myself reflected back and maybe someone out there would see me staring out and ask, “Who is that man in the window up there?” and that would make two of us.