In the shimmering
depth of new snow
there is no self.
Glistening galaxies
gazing from lawns
skyward, night's wardrobe
where all possibilities leaning
dormant warning the next
great unexpected
blizzard of light,
melting, misting, lifting
as does fog. Tasting breath
chilled like champagne silhouettes,
cold as the midnight of a century and a
half-exhaled beyond living memory
(back beyond the solar plexus.)
Remember when it began
then forgot, and
now is wrapped in one more
monument of glamorous snow.