Perhaps

The house is empty,

And I am sitting alone beside the fireplace

Filled with soft flames.

The ice flits from the sky, surrounding this home

In silence, in darkness.

The electricity disappeared some minutes ago.

Flames reflect brightly from the glass,

Juxtaposed against the backdrop of accumulating snow.

I place my hand on the stone mantel beside me

And imagine that the warmth I feel is not from flames --

Perhaps you were just here;

You left for a moment, but you'll be back.

But when I open my eyes, the house is still dark,

The bed is still empty,

And I am still alone.

The fire shrinks apologetically.

I gaze into it contemplatively,

Feeling that same ever-present ache.