After the plumber left, water swirled obediently
down the drain. Incense obliterated
the sweaty, metallic scent,
filling the air with cinnamon and pine,
reminding me of the years incense seemed
to help warm a room,
even if the windows were slick with ice.

I wanted to rattle the palm fronds outside,
make it snow.

I wanted the smell of snow melting on a friend’s
black wool jacket to fill my warm, dusk-lit apartment.

Or maybe it was the friend I wanted.