Tuesday, January 27th, 2015 - 4:53AM

The night only whispers. All that moves on Allen Street are the barren trees, but when I sit by my window your nacre ghost catches the street's light bouncing off the snow as you glide from the corner to disappear below the fire escape. Barely audible: the year-old reverberation of your footsteps in the building's stairwell, the turn of the key, the slow open of the door as you try not to wake me. I'm waiting up for you as I was during last year's snowstorm, but this time you're not coming.