snow in the city

as a woman in the morning,
light moves in the windows.
My chin is in my palm.
If you are lonely in the city,
perhaps you need a rest.
Or, perhaps you are alone.

If you are to take the lights
from this place, would it wither
like old suburbs? All these street-facing
buildings would stand dead–
uninterrupted and blank. Mold
in the corners.
sinking plastics.

It is kept alive by snow.
Splatters of little things
undone in a pinch- little lights, little bricks -little
carvings of saints under the sun–

A vast bit of detail
pitched and pitted and left to blur out by
watery eyes–

that’s the wind drawing us to rest.
drawing us to beauty.
forging out of us a loneliness
blanked by all these people
even a nightmare can’t touch–

outside the window, inside
we’re all as real as the streetlights
and trucks rumbling without quiet
watch green jump to yellow and red,

a city is blanked in white.
a city accents in snow.
a city finds comfort in realizing
we are still

change from stop and
realizing a detailed art
isn’t a pattern
is still alive

and brings us
again to
face the same buildings
with life.


2 thoughts on “snow in the city

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