the cellar

the cellar

is cold. there is no
wine to be found, no
hand,
no body near
to hold.

no mice,
no bats or broken latches
or windows.
no memory to rest upon.

I sit in the long chair.
against the wall.
the tv
is off.

I ponder my next move.

sipping hot tea
in the dark.
alone.
it's nearly a new day.
i'll rise
and go up
soon.