Thicker Last Night

In the bleak morning
Marrow anticipates winter

the body disengaged
from familiar warmth,

and the neighbors are
saying things like

"gonna find someone
to share my bed,
snow too cold,
the gas bill."

Bluish fingers
hold socks to the wall heater

dust ribbons,

and folks
step softly,

alone,

round their houses.

Thicker, last night,
than water.

Thicker
than thieves.