I walk up to the window, to look out.
It is dark. Pinot in hand, 
I sit into one hip and stare. 

My breath makes eerie noises
on the bottle, I drain it.
As I do I watch my own silhouette

- shadow's sharper cousin,
bastard child of reflection -

picked-out by lamp-light;
then made transparent by the night.
Transparent as the bottle, hanging loose
in the hand at my side.

I toast the window,
and throw the bottle down.
Emptiness echoes across my eyes
and I hit the floor before it.