SNOW

All this talk of snow in colder parts of the world is reminding me of winters past in Brooklyn.

I love you, New York.



The first snow of the year
is colder than I remember.
Viewed from the shadow of the bearded, bundled buddies
hacking and spitting and looking like they’re smoking in the cold
(this particular group really is killing themselves - these boys are old)
The sky but a gradual din of whitish gray flaking upward
One thinks of lovers and films and toasting by the fire
And not of this drafty fortress or unfulfilled desire
Across the street, a buildup slides helplessly from the awning
Unsettlingly similar to myself as it sits motionlessly midair -
defying all physical and I daresay realistic expectations -
before plummeting violently to the hardened surface below
to be lost underfoot until forgotten evermore.
I, too, was once pure, fated -
with only weighted dignity in store.