If you were here, I would say to you, Look!
Look through the window 
at that cloud, the way it puffs joyfully up, glowing rose-gold above
with its lavender underbelly, 
how its purple is reflected on the snowy rooftop, 
and the sky, how it glows, too, 
nursery blue and pink,
as if the clouds teach it to soften 
and be gentle with the earth 
before saying goodnight and
changing into an indigo dressing-gown.
Perhaps the moon is singing a lullaby.
Perhaps you can hear it.