something drifts from the sky today
in the form of sutures and stitches
through tiny graces the heavens do play
yet in streets business still itches

in silence the static meanders
the city is yellow with cold
when breezes lift, the snow wanders
over horizons lined with gold

the flakes are empty, light and white
and as they fall on my shoulders
a burden lifts away into the night
my eyes are calm as the elders

i stand content under a gray dome
as each snowflake finds its way home




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