So cozy, this. I’ve set up the desk by
an armchair, pillows, blankets, and a clock.
Here where no less-than-friendly eye can spy
me—where nobody I don’t know can walk.
And here I do enjoy a moment, still
and warm, to write a word of what I’ve made.
To let, in this safe, soft space, my words spill
onto a page upon the warm desk laid.
Because if I do not, this desk will be
alone with its warm armchair and with me
inside it—for a moment calm and free—
a moment nobody else gets to see.
And that would not be cozy. Cold indeed
would be this coziness of which you read.