How still it is; the snow
begins to drop, each flake shifting
like silk. It looks so easy.
The chair, steel and struggling, as bells
struggle to ring. It is meant to last.
Glass rivers under snow, the steel
glints, frayed ends disappearing, dissolve
into cables. Out of sweetness,
out of the core of despair, fear
licks the rim, earth sleeps inside
the mountain. The sky peers
from hiding. In the one house where we are
welcome, sweetness, waiting to become
the unknown. Come as death or pity,
wings beating air against my cheek.
