The streetlight shares
Its golden snow on
A cool January Night.
The black sky of suburbia
Is its subject as
The flakes are delivered
By concealed storks in flight
Away in the house nearby
I watch,
Endlessly enthralled,
This delicate birth
Of sweet delight.
----
The street snow falls
Like leaves leaping
From trees;
A reminder of yesterday
& the past presents
I have wistfully
Received.
They are falling for me
Falling for me.
---
Go, go snow
Idol tongued
In your silver dress.
Sliver down to
Fine alabaster,
The statue is a mess.
Can’t it remember?
Can’t it surrender?
It was supposed to crawl
Into the arms of chained
December, lest it
Forget.
--
Yet it lingers on, bringing
A feeling that a poet would write.
It’s like rewinding
An old VHS
& seeing me with
My tiger in imaginary
Jungles. His fur so
Orange & diamond white.
But the memories of him
Will fade when I sleep;
Into the sheep I will count,
Into the prayers I will recite.
-
The streetlight shares
Its golden snow on
A cool January night.
