Covid Winter Nights

My wife’s breath is the metronome of my night,
playing a slow steady march,
the melody for my long sleepless nights.
Air bubbles clang through the hot water radiators,
the periodic pump jump,
the faint roar of the boiler kicking in.

Outside the wind relentlessly pushes from the west,
the coyotes sing over some small win,
and some where very faintly, a cock crows,
Pointing to a future whose tune is impossible to hear.

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