Across 50th Street

Even though it’s frosted,
the bathroom glass
gives you away.
Your shape amoeba-like
pauses, seeing my light
across 50th street.

The window rises
just a crack
your hand pokes out
red ember attached
floating into January air.
Only one exhale...

Before the entry door opens
the next window over
your wife pours in, heavy with bags,
heavy with winter coat,
already speaking to you.
Without a hand grasping
its tender neck
the ember falls all those stories down.

thanks for reading, been struggling with this one!*

[1] (https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/85wk3f/the_lobsters_a_ghazal/dw2cert/) [2] (https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/8632d4/to_the_wind/dw2bymh/)