“It’s too warm,” she murmurs, in the
middle of the night. “Turn down the heater.”
I am still half asleep, dreaming of a
banquet, a splendid banquet. My mind
rebels. I wish to return.

“Too warm,” she repeats, and I open my
eyes, close them again, I visualize
getting up, fumbling for the light,
walking unsteadily into the next room.
My mind rebels. It is a splendid banquet,
in a splendid hall. We lack for nothing. I
wish to return.

“Throw off the blanket,” I answer, groggily,
and sink back to sleep, and the banquet,
and the splendor.