There’s warmth on the streets tonight.

It's cold outside,
but there’s warmth on the streets tonight.

At Nathan Philips Square
sidewalks are clean,
with a slightly ruffled blanket,
set to the side on a small bank of snow.

A man walks by, whistling at the lights,
two lovers kiss,
and a cop walks around the corner
where he finds her.

Blue,
nearly still,
barley a few minutes old,
umbilical still attached.

A crowd gathers, all in a frenzy to help;
she died five times on the way to the hospital,
but they kept reviving her,
only a few pounds a few ounces.

Hundreds called in,
asking to adopt this miracle,
and talk filled air,
who would do such a thing?

It's been a month since,
and there’s talk of a war,
the Oscars,
a scandal.

At Nathan Philips Square,
someone throws a snowball,
another passes by
a streetcar rumbles past.

On a grate on the sidewalk,
surrounded by melted snow,
the steam from below rising out,
blocked by a lone, lumpen shape.

Passing by, people see him,
fall quiet for a moment,
until they have passed,
and it is safe to laugh again.

It’s cold outside,
but there’s warmth on the streets tonight.