coming down in a steady winter coat
a rested hand upon the head of
our slush filled shoes
unreal to us until it
sticks
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
lit
the golden halo now grey and
bright
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
anticipation
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
it's
the things that might come after
and how they'll all
look
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