December drink

Light snow flickers
in the air outside
and you sip the drink,
savoring the thick fat,
sugar and nutmeg,
mild spice. You can’t
remember whiskey
in the sip, reflecting
on it now, but warmth
permeates this time,
whether from nostalgia
or its liquid mirror.
It’s too cold now
for this extravagance,
here in what’s left
of this world, and you
stare at the egg yolk
thinking mostly not
of this dream, but 
of an undarkened sky,
gold globe of sun, rays
rich and sweet to savor.