When the silver pin-holes pock the
big black blanket just so I fall
instinctual--in this mushroom orb
of synthetic light airplanes are
inconsistent but accepted as
infinite--O’Hare the God of
Gas and Firmament.
A groundhog surfaces
once, if only to gnaw dandelion
leaves, jostles the stalk & the fluff reminds us
of snow--that was Summer.
Trees impetuously undress themselves
for Winter--shimmy-shake-strip
in the wind--but Winter doesn’t notice.
They are left to shiver & shiver.
Welcome furnaces & hot showers with
an amphibious heart & love them
for what they are (necessary). Quick,
track my boot crumbs in the snow--keep
close or we’ll lose ourselves in the whiteness.
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