I imagine my deck
a lofty mountain peak,
each warm, breezy gust
a violent wind
whipping through the threads
of my invisible down parka,
rifling through hair
unburdened by the fur-lined hat
I carelessly forgot.

I deftly scan the horizon
and see before me
Alpine valleys
unfolding on the other side of
those rooftops,
the pristine mountain springs
disguised as gutter run-off.

My descent looks treacherous;
perhaps I should linger here a while,
sipping hot cocoa
from my Smirnoff Ice can.