Wednesday, 22 December 2010

snow day

it's not the snow
coming down in a steady winter coat
a rested hand upon the head of
our slush filled shoes
unreal to us until it
at our slush fearing feet

the anticipation of what
comes after the fall
my unrested mind trying
to imagine a world with
calm, rested presence of
earthly context
this universal feeling we get from this
worldly phenomenon
this crystallized realization of
the worth of our roofs, jackets,
and communal warmth

it swirls around lightposts
illuminated and uniformly
the golden halo now grey and
so bright and grey
so bright and grey

sinking through the souls of our feet
the souls of our walking and wishing
forward feet

framed by tree and lamp and this thought and

it's not
the snow

it's how the world might look after

how the spaces will be filled
and the burners in our
hearts will be stoked with

it's not
the snow

it's how I imagine you might look with flakes in your hair

and how you might squint so you can see

it's not
the snow
the things that might come after
and how they'll all

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