Last night I dreamt
of peering through a window
of a gray stone cottage,
the room within, suffused
with warm glowing light.
Along the walls,
pastel ballerinas
stretched and twisted
their lithe bodies.
A fieldstone fireplace
held a nest
of crackling, dancing flames.
I stood,
paralyzed by indecision
and desire
just before the welcome mat,
surrounded
by a swirl of snowflakes.
My left front pocket
was weighted down
with a jangly fistful
of shiny keys.
A numb paw
yanked them forth
and I tried them, one by one,
each on an eager tongue
that might fit the lock…
The silver one
slipped in but did not turn;
a copper one
was rejected, as sparks flew
against cold metal.
I twisted & tugged keys
time & time again
as warmth within
beckoned
I tried a final key,
shiny and black;
it caught, slowly turned
and the thick oak door
creaked open lazilty
at my gentle prod…
Then I woke
and brushed a frosty
three-inch drift
from the rough bench
that formed my bed,
from my icy body.
I reached into my left front pocket
for my ring of keys;
I found them all, except the one,
so black and shiny
that opened the door
to warmth.