I wrote this today, actually just about 30 seconds ago. I probably should give it time to marinate, time to revise and reflect… but nah, not today. Not with cabin-fever setting in (Baltimore is a wintery sink-hole!)


With gentle whisperings soft
snow creeps ever higher
Onto windows, doors,
Piles high on cars,
Rooftops, and chairs left outside.

Snow seems to come
From every direction, white
Crystals so light and
Yet how they pile, how
They trap us with every inch.

My mind is covered in
The ceaseless display of how
Many many small things
Can add up to a great power,
Can create an entire alien world.

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