tonight is a walk into a framed painting
of a man walking in a snow storm.

he and I see the street lamp
and think of a story about a light house
and wonder if the keeper has enough oil
to last through the night.

we, and the keeper,
look out through the long panes
the lamp light thickened with flakes reflecting back
for a moment and then disappearing
forever in the blackness.
there is whale oil
and rum and coffee
so that the coffee and rum
and whale oil
can continue to flow
across the ocean which we know is there
but take on faith at this moment.

the walking man and I
pass through the keeper's light
and as the story fades
the walking man reaches for a door to a diner
and goes inside,
knocking his boots against the frame.
As the door closes behind him
I see the special is porkchops
and cobbler.

my companions gone,
I listen to the snow fall.