The Christmas tree is up

Watching you in the night from across the valley

I am singing here but my own words come back
to me from windows. It must be a sight
from where you are, lights flickering

off and on through open curtains. It is the sky
I see most of, but if I'm thinking of you
all I ask is that I fill your thoughts too.

You do not search back. You look to me like you're reading
but perhaps it is sleep that fills you.
That would be your only excuse.