Writing in Bed

the electric candles glow in the windows
casting eerie shadows across the wooden floor
long legged monsters waver towards me
settled here under a heavy quilt as if winter
resided here, inside instead of out where
the snow has turned to ice on frozen roadways
and sidewalks left unshoveled pitch pedestrians
face forward into crumpled piles.
it's warm under here and quiet, the dishwasher
has finished humming, the dog is snoring
downstairs and I can imagine hearing the
last droplets of water evaporating off the
clean dishes in the kitchen.