Sun pours through the window of this pricey hotel
burning frost off the glass, making a cheerful promise
that today will be less brutal than the two before:
artists huddling miserably layered in clothing and
blankets in open tents, hoping someone might brave
the cold to buy something nice for their home knowing
the odds of this happening are very slim indeed.
We dream of bathtubs and beds, waiting, hapless.
