Bitter Cold

His older eyes peered out the window,
drawing conclusions and learning things,
my limited vision seemed never to know.

Keenly I watched his eyelashes like wings,
beating the air with the tilting of his head.
Thoughtful, careful, and with a certain tone
he postulated the future with rising dread.

And like other things long written in stone,
we knew better than to challenge or doubt.
We had only to breathe deeply and prepare;
another storm, another loss, a dwindling count.

My hands gripped tighter those in my care,
those for whom I found meaning to live,
and wished only that my heart...laid bare,
had more warmth to give.