In the wild open west, flakes keep falling

Like myriad baby angels knocked down from Paradise

 

Blurring the landscape behind the vision

Hunting each consonant trying to rise above

 

The ground. The day is brighter, lighter &

Softer than the feel. Soon there will be

 

Dirty prints leading to everywhere (or nowhere)

& no one will care how the whole world will collapse

In blasphemy. The missing cat won’t come to

Trespass the lawn, nor will the daffodil bloom

 

To catch a flake drifting astray. Nobody bothers even to think

About where the season is held up on its way back, how

The fishes are agitating under the pressure of wintry

Water, why people wish to see more and more snow.