People think that snow is so pretty.  So do I, until I have to drive or walk in it.

Watching Mercury Fall

This is the eulogy
of a suspended snow
fall, a sentence
of seasonal bondage. Tied
scarves, chained tires. The sun
is such
a tease, blinking sporadically from behind
estranged
clouds. The snow
coming to
rest in the basin
like cheap white
wine settles
in a cup. A

dull halo
crowning the rim of the unkempt
park, the rusted swings
creaking their disdain
at nature’s new

fit of imperfection

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