Completely

Rough tweed presses to my clammy cheek
from sweat or sweet sleepy childhood drool.
Snow muffles all the bangs to thuds
as though I hear everything
through earmuffs.

Maybe there is school today and maybe
there is work and
although it is daytime
you have a light on because of the dim-
ness of the room and
I watch the shadow of you

reach long arms across your drafting table,
like a rubber super hero,
the shadow stretches up the wall.

I, in a fever thrall, am wrapped in a blanket
where the nylon edging has torn away,
and I am completely happy.