Feeling The Chill (Poetry)

The room is warm and cluttered bright —
a comfort-clouded bubble floating
two floors up.
Outside is all illusion — a criss-cross patch
of sun-laminated twigs —
their winter catkins lemon-lit and swinging
in a breeze that I imagine
isn’t blowing kind.

The afternoon pretends to be benign
following the morning’s dreary petulance —
its tetchy spattering of rain —
the sky is clear now — glimmering blue-grey
in vain attempt to let me think
for one moment to believe it might be warm enough
to go out for a walk.

But I’m not taken in by this surprise display —
this deceptive glimpse of nearly-spring...

a chill pervades — the mirage wavers
as the minutes wear it thin.