No poem tonight

I shake my head,
And frown into
A virtual page of white —
This screen —

That lights my face
In this otherwise dark room
That we have been trying to heat
Against the storm

That blows as if to extinguish
Our little box of light.
The white of the screen
Mimics the white

Of the fields and forest
Hidden by the blackness
That turns the windows into mirrors. . .
In which I see myself

Trying to write.
But no poem comes,
Even though this sweetest of worlds
Deserves to be remembered.

All I can do is stare
Into the ominous white noise
Of the virtual
Page of white.